The FStop
by pixiegiggles
Summary: Sookie is a barmaid and aspiring photographer. Her world changes when she runs into famous actor Eric Northman at the opening of her first gallery show. AH.
1. Prologue: A Taste of Nookie

A/N:Thank you so, so much to my betas, S. Meads and VampLover1, who helped me figure out how to make this idea into a story. Ladies -- I never thought I could fall inlove with someone online, but I have:)

Oh, and an extra thank you to VampLover1 for working her magic with the song for this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Sookie Stackhouse Series or the HBO series True Blood

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****SPOV**_**  
**_**  
**

_*runs off to get laundry*_

_BBL  
_

I hit reply on my Crackberry and tossed it on the couch. I had to send a message to my friend Amelia before I booked it out of the room.

I had jumped up with delight when I heard the dryer buzz just ten seconds ago. It was 8:55 pm, and I figured I could sprint through the kitchen, dig through my warm laundry to find my Team Vamp shirt, and still have time to slip it on and get all settled with my Gran's hideous, but strangely comfy quilt before _Fiends_ came on.

And not a moment too soon.

I could already hear HBO's familiar sound clip of snowy static buzzing, signaling the start of the program. That meant I missed the recap of last week's episode. Damn. It's not like I hadn't seen it, though. There would have to be some sort of horrific doomsday-type scenario for that to ever happen. But I did enjoy watching Eric Northman every single chance I got, no matter how many times I may have seen the episode before.

I sighed as I settled into my seat. Could the man be any more perfect? He was so incredibly beautiful... it was almost painful. But it was a pleasure-filled pain. Chock full o' pleasure, and not the rated 'G' kind, if you know what I mean.

For anyone living under a rock for the past few years, _Fiends_ was currently TV's hottest dramedy, mostly because of the unbelievably hot and sexy actor Eric Northman (or EN, short for Eric Nookie, as we liked to refer to him on our fan forum). On the show, he played the strong, yet sensitive, Leif Erikson, who was supportively helping his twin brother Bjorn with a little problem. You see, Bjorn had the misfortune of running into the tall, dark, and handsome vampire fiend, Bill and had been turned into a vampire against his will by him. So, Leif was helping his brother adjust to his new bloody lifestyle.

EN played both twin brothers brilliantly. The human Leif, a veritable pillaging Viking, was a towering 6'4", cocky bad-ass with wheat-colored, closely cropped hair and piercing blue eyes. He enjoyed all possible forms of debauchery and mayhem, and was used to always getting what he wanted without having to try too hard. Wherever he was, there was always fun, trouble, and plenty of women.

His adorkable brother was as opposite from him as scientifically possible for a twin to be. He had the same light coloring, of course, but his blond hair flowed long, with a too-perfectly-tragic, made-for-TV beauty, around his face and down to his shoulders, and his stunning blue eyes were covered with thick-rimmed glasses. Of course, now that he was a vampire, he didn't need to wear the glasses, seeing as he had beyond 20/20 vision, but he just couldn't give up that part of his self just yet.  
**  
**This is part of what made the show so absolutely amazing. It was like a Greek tragedy on government-grade crack because really, if anyone out of those two would have made the better vampire, it would have so been Leif. The only possible thing that made Bjorn a better vampire was his beautiful, long hair -- it would be a shame to lose that full head of gorgeousness to mere mortality. But aside from that, Bjorn had the worst temperament for a vampire, and was epically forlorn about his new life. Leif, on the other hand, was also not a very happy camper. He wasn't thrilled about sharing his bachelor pad with his depressed vampire brother, but his fiercely loyal nature and very well-hidden heart of gold, could not allow him to do anything other than take care of him.

_Fiends_ was as hilarious as it was sad. That's what won it the countless Emmys it had received from day one, and the rapidly growing female fan base was due, in no small part, to the double dose of deliciousness that is Eric Northman.

Like other popular TV shows, message board immediately popped up around the hot, new dramedy, _Fiends_, and soon there where forums that made you choose, 'Were you Team Vamp or Team Human?' As for me, well, I was 1000% Team Vamp. I mean, it's not like Leif was hard to look at, by any means, but I just melted for long hair and adorkable sweetness. Oh, and vampire Bill wasn't too bad to look at either. I may be a pretty small girl, but I was always willing to make room for a tasty vampwich.

**

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**

I picked up my phone as the _Fiends_ theme song started playing, checking for new messages one last time before the show started.

I couldn't resist the dorky smile that spread across my lips as the catchy song began:

_So no one told you life was gonna be this way [four claps]  
You're now undead, instead, a vamp who sleeps all day  
It's like you're always wanting blood and sex  
When the girls come home with us, you rub, you kiss, you suck on their necks _

_**CHORUS  
But, **__I'll be there for you  
(When your fangs start to show)  
I'll be there for you  
(Since we're brothers, you know)  
I'll be there for you  
('Cause you're there for me too) _

_We're sexy, blond and gorgeous; women crave our hair  
And now we're loved by teams; this change is so unfair  
Your handsome Maker came and drained you dry  
Now both our lives are tougher as we cope and try to get by_

_**CHORUS**__  
But, I'll be there for you  
(When your fangs start to show)  
I'll be there for you  
(Since we're brothers, you know)  
I'll be there for you  
('Cause you're there for me too) _

Yep. Sunday was definitely my favorite night of the week.

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A/N: So what did you guys think? It's my first shot into the AH world, so please let me know what you think of the concept!


	2. Fiends and Photos

**A/N: Thank you all for all of your review love! I am so excited that you guys are loving this fic so much! The brothers Erikson are swoon worthy, aren't they? Thanks to the ladies over at the best SVM All Human stories for adding me on to their community:)  
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**I know it may have seemed like a long time coming...but I wanted to work out a few little things before finishing this next chapter, so I can you the next few chapters (hopefully) more quickly. Plus, I will admit, I have been quite distracted by new Halloween contest, Eric and his Great Pumpkin. Haloween is so much fun ;p**

**Thank you so, so much once again to VampLover1, who not only beta'd this chapter, but has also guest-authored the most yummylicious _Fiends _episode clip for your reading pleasure :) **

**If you haven't already done so, you must read her stuff ( http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/1827570/VampLover1), especially the amazing TB recap "'Twas the Week Before True Blood". **

**Thanks also to the amazing Meads who held my hand and helped keep my head straight:) I love you ladies!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Sookie Stackhouse Series or the HBO series True Blood**

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_Light glorifies everything. It transforms and ennobles the most commonplace and ordinary subjects. The object is nothing, light is everything._

– _Leonard Missone_

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_**epov**_

I agreed to help Pam, mostly because I knew that Pam would feel obliged to return the favor.

Somehow, someway, someday. I could call it in.

But I never expected that I would be the one asking -- no, scratch that-- _begging_, for the big favor.

Pamela Ravenscroft was the owner and director of The F/Stop, a downtown gallery specializing in contemporary photography. In a moment of sheer panic, she asked if I would help her pick through the entrants in the annual photo competition after she discovered the enormous number of entrants had far exceeded past years. So, I knew she would be very grateful for my help, and I was ready for a fun distraction after the crazy day I had on the set of my television series.

Besides, I must admit, I do enjoy art, especially photography. There's something about how light - such an unsubstantial element that you can't grab or run your fingers through - gives form to everything in a photo. There was something mysterious about the fact that it could not be defined, yet it defined everything. It was the photographic paintbrush, and in the hands of a true artist, it truly was magical.

So I wasn't totally displeased to help my friend, even though I also knew we would have to wade through piles of amateur drabble. No matter. The pros mostly outweighed the cons.

But then I saw _that_ photograph. It was mesmerizing - reminding me of that feeling I had the first time I stood in front of a work of art and lost myself completely in the visual experience. It was a rare occurrence, but unmistakable when you encountered it.

I put the photo down reverently, pushing all the others that lay next to it off of the table, not really caring or paying attention to where they landed. Hell, it's not like the entrants were expecting them back - all of the rejects would end up in the trash, anyway. I fell into the photograph, forgetting myself for a few blissful moments.

"The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life," I whispered in awe, more to myself than to Pam, "by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life."

This was the beauty and the magic of a truly great work of art. It was so rare these days, though, that it put me into a reverent trance. I had certainly not expected to come across this caliber of work, especially from some amateur mail-in photo contest. Where had this photographer come from?

Pam reached out her hand, trying to grab the photo that inspired me to fucking quote Faulkner, but I caught her hand mid-air.

"What's this one's name?" I asked, not yet willing to lift my eyes from the photo, idiotically forgetting that the name of the artist would be listed on the back.

Pam looked at me silently, waiting for my brain to catch up to its own slowness.

"Seriously, Eric, how long does it take you these days to watch _60 Minutes_?" she sneered, yanking her hand away. "Three hours?" she snickered, as she grabbed the photo and flipped it over.

"Seriously, Pam, I'm surprised," I mimicked. "You couldn't come up with a better line than that?"

I folded my arms, leaning back in the chair. Pam enjoyed this type of thing far more than was healthy. She's the only one I would tolerate this kind of behavior from.

"Well?" I asked impatiently.

"And the winner is..." she purred at me, pausing for extra drama, as pleased as a cat who had just caught a delicious little mouse. "Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse."

* * *

_**spov**_

The coffee mug shattered on the ground, sending shards of porcelain flying as the hot liquid pooled near my feet. I stopped, frozen in my tracks, as I finished reading the letter:

_Miss Sookie Stackhouse,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as the winner of our annual Young Photographer contest._

_Please contact Pamela Ravenscroft to accept this honor._

I blinked rapidly, in rhythm to my hyperventilating breath, as my mind raced, trying to understand how this was possible.

"What's wrong, dear?" my Gran asked with concern, her figure framed by the door.

My mouth opened and closed shut several times, utterly failing to find the words to explain my current state of shock. I finally walked towards the house and handed the letter to her.

Gran's eyes quickly scanned the letter, her lips mouthing the words silently until they curved into a smile.

"You won!" she exclaimed with glee.

"I've won what?" I questioned suspiciously, watching my Gran closely.

Her hand tightened around the letter while her gaze darted off to the left.

"Did you know about this?" I asked, advancing on her, unable to hide the surprise and anger in my voice.

Gran wrapped her arm around my waist and led me into the living room.

"Well, dear, I saw this great photo contest for undiscovered artists, sponsored by a gallery in Los Angeles that specializes in photography, and it seemed like a great opportunity," she explained as she steered us both towards the couch. "I hate to see you squander your talents."

All I could do was stare and blink stupidly, so she continued telling me about the competition. "The prize is your very own show at the gallery!"

My eyes practically popped out of my head. Exhibition? I assumed the prize was a few hundred dollars, so I was in absolute shock to find out that the grand prize was a solo exhibition at a posh L.A. gallery.

I rolled my eyes. _ Well at least it wasn't New York. _

Now, hold on. Before you think I'm some angsty_ artiste_ with distaste for the establishment -- I'm not. I'm the farthest thing from that cliche and proud of it.

I fell in love with art the first time my Gran took me to the museum in town. I loved spending the entire day there, drowning myself in the worlds that hung on the walls.

Ironically, I started developing my distaste for the art world when I studied art history in school. My internship at the local gallery clinched the deal. The art elites all wore black on black, and even tried to wear the quintessential turtleneck, as much as the warm Louisiana weather would allow. I was always easy to spot, because I was pretty much the only person who ever wore color. You see, I worked very hard on my perfect tan, and I usually didn't like wasting it on boring black.

They always tried to talk with the fanciest and longest words they knew. It was practically like a damn measuring contest. It was like they constantly needed to prove how chic and smart they were.

Oh, and if you were an artist, they would trip over themselves to convince you that they 'got' you -- all you had to do was throw a damn bucket of paint on a canvas and huff your chest out about the music of existence -- and they would kiss your feet in frenzied ecstasy, proclaiming your genius.

Ha, what a load of bull.

So, anyways, I love art, but I can't stand the haughty snobbiness of the world that tries to guard it.

I shook my head, trying to physically snap myself out of the mental rant I'd allowed myself to get into. Geesh. I hadn't thought about that world in a while. I was more than happy living here with Gran and working at the local bar. Gran had even put in a darkroom in our house, so I could still enjoy photography. It was a simple life, but it was a good one.

I glanced down at the card, reading the address. _100 W. 5th Avenue, Los Angeles, California._ Well, La di da. I didn't know Los Angeles that well, but that sounded like pretty good real estate in downtown.

I glanced at the card that had been included in the envelope, absentmindedly admiring the elegant magenta letters set off against the dark charcoal background.

Pamela Ravenscroft. Director. The F/Stop. Digital Arts Gallery.

_Heh, clever name for a photo gallery. _The F Stop is how a photographer controls the amount of light in a shot. Well, more specifically, it is how the photographer controls how wide to open the shutter, which consequently determines how much light the film is exposed to while the shutter is open. If a photograph is a window into the mind and soul of the artist-- that is, a glimpse of the world as it exists to the artist-- then the F Stop is a measure of how wide an artist is willing to open that window.

I shook my head again. I really had to snap myself out of this. I should be ecstatic about this honor. I told myself that the conversation with this Pam couldn't be all that bad -- after all, it's just a phone call, right?

My dread at making the call reminded me of a scene from one of my all-time favorite episodes of _Fiends_. It was during the very first show, when viewers are first introduced to the delicious Erikson brothers. Poor Bjorn has to make that dreadful call to his girlfriend to tell her he is now a vampire. Up until then, he had been avoiding her like the plague (or 'like a stake' might be a better phrase). So, his womanizing human brother Leif 'encourages' Bjorn to phone the girl, rather than deal with her face-to-face.

I scrambled to find my special collector's edition DVD boxed-set from Season 1, the one with that sexy cover picture of Eric Northman in his dual-roles. That now-classic picture was the same one used for most of HBO's publicity shots and was taken from the scene I was about to watch, in fact. I quickly found the large box and stopped for a moment to simply stare and sigh at the cover. How many other women (and maybe even men) had done the same thing as me? Countless many, I was sure.

Besides the cover shot, I loved all of the extras included in the set, too. I especially enjoyed the fascinating behind-the-scenes look at how both characters can appear on the screen at the same time. It must be challenging for an actor to film each scene twice and say dialogue to someone not really there. There was also a cool special-effects extra about how they make it seem that one twin has a long beautiful mane while the other has close-cropped hair. I had been quite relieved to learn that the _real_ EN had the longer version; in fact, the actor was supposedly a real 'diva' when it came to his hair.

I inserted disc one into my DVD player and used my remote to select the scene with the phone conversation. It was close to the end of the episode; I should know because I had watched this particular one a countless number of times. After all, it's the episode that first made America's panties get wet (and ensured EN a nice long contract with HBO).

_**Scene:**__ The twins' apartment on a Saturday evening. The brothers are sitting on the living room couch, a bottle of beer and a bottle of synthetic blood sit on the table before them. Leif is dressed in a tight black tank-top and jeans; his brother Bjorn is in a blood-red designer polo-shirt and khakis. _

_**BJORN:**__ "But Marnie is going to dump me when she finds out!" (he nervously adjusts his glasses)_

_**LEIF:**__ "So what if she does, bro? There are lots of girls out there just dying to get to know us! And you never know -- she just might like the idea of fucking a vampire."_

_**BJORN:**__ "That's easy for you to say, Leif -- you have girls hanging on you twenty-four hours a day! But I only have twelve hours a day to work with and most available women are sleeping then! I'll never find another girlfriend if Marnie lets me go!" (he holds his head in his hands as his long, blond hair falls forward in a beautiful mess)_

_**LEIF:**__ (shaking head in disgust at his brother's lame whining) "Man up! Call her and tell her how it is, Bjorn. She either accepts you as you are, or you cut her loose." (picks up phone and hands it to Bjorn, but not before playfully punching his brother in the shoulder)_

_**BJORN:**__ (stares at phone, trying to make the call. He finally dials the number and stares straight at the camera with those beautifully bespectacled blue eyes) "Hi, lover, it's me." ***** "Yes, I know, I'm sorry I haven't been able to call you sooner." ***** "Well, I have something I need to tell you…ummm…" (he looks to his brother for guidance)_

_**LEIF:**__ (mouths silently) "Marnie, I'm now a vampire." (smiles in encouragement)_

_**BJORN:**__ "Marnie... I'm now a vampire!" (he says with conviction, smiling a little at his own confidence, but then his eyes widen in shock and disappointment as he listens to her somewhat lengthy response) "What?? Why, you little witch!" (his fangs extend) "I hope I never have to remember another moment of our cursed time together, Marnie Stonebrook!" (slams phone down on table after hanging up on her)_

_**LEIF:**__ "Well, what did she say?"(he looks worried about his brother)_

_**BJORN:**__ "She thought she could do much better than me, anyway, and then she asked if __**you**__ were available to come over to her house tonight!" (he sighs in resignation)_

_**LEIF:**__ "Well, Bjorn, I think that you're better off without her. The whole time you two dated, it was like you were under her spell, anyway. Time to move on, bro!" (reaches for the two bottles and hands his brother a blood) "Let's make a toast!" _

_**BJORN:**__ "A toast? But what for?" (he looks surprised)_

_**LEIF:**__ "To new beginnings… To brotherhood." (they clink bottles together in toast) "Remember... I'll be there for you." (reaches around to hug his brother in very masculine manner as the two towering heartthrobs, one of them fanged, grin and look directly at the camera in a picture-worthy pose)_

_Theme music begins:_

_I'll be there for you  
(When your fangs start to show)  
I'll be there for you  
(Since we're brothers, you know)_

_The credits start to roll as the theme music continues._

Afraid I wouldn't be able to get that damn song out of my head, I quickly stopped the disc and retrieved it from the player.

I sighed, thinking about how that scene always got to me. Handsome Leif seems so self-assured, but beneath that cocky exterior, he's really sensitive and supportive of his brother. And Bjorn, with his beautiful flowing hair, is simply so sweet and adorkable— that scene makes me just want to kiss and comfort him; gawd, it even makes me want to rub myself all over him, I'm not ashamed to admit! That's why I know I will always be Team Vamp. And I could definitely understand why the writers would want Marnie out of the picture so early on. It left both brothers available to all kinds of plot possibilities with no 'girlfriend' strings attached; it also left viewers to swoon over the gorgeous and amazing actor playing the twins, as if any average woman watching the show even had a remote chance with someone like EN.

Now that my little delay tactic from the task at-hand was over, I realized I needed to finally 'man up' and make the call to that Pam Ravenscroft, gallery director. And who knew what might happen? Maybe this would lead to new beginnings for me as well, I thought, as I reached for the phone.

*****


	3. Double Exposure

_A/N: Thank y'all for all the amazing reviews! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying this fic ;p _

_And, a special thanks goes to FNT, who collaborated with me on a fic for the Eric and His Great Pumpkin contest. We co-wrote my first official lemon. You know what they say – it gets a lot easier (and much more fun) after your first time:) _

_Oh, what's that? You haven't read our GP entry yet? *gasps in horror * Well, I guess I could forgive you – but only if you run along and read it right now! Go ahead...the Erikson brothers will keep me company while I wait ;p_

_http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5446866/1/Come_As_You_Arent _

_Oh, and of course you should check out all the other amazing entries:_

_http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2089903/Eric_and_his_Great_Pumpkin _

_Thank you so, so much VampLover1 for being such an amazing beta...there are no words. * smooches *_

_Okay, nuff said. Enjoy!_

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**_Photography deals exquisitely with appearances, but nothing is what it appears to be. _**

**– _Duane Michals_**

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"The _F_ Stop," purred a lazy but seductive voice, "this is Pam."

Her emphasis on the F dripped with sex, and it made me reconsider, even if just for the briefest of moments, whether the gallery name really did refer to the photographic term.

"Is this Pamela Ravenscroft?" I inquired in a, what I hoped would sound confident and polite but ended up more like a breathless, squeak.

Her laughter spilled out, smooth velvet rippling over cool steel. It filled my reddening ears. "Ms. Sookie Stackhouse. I was wondering how long it would take you to work up the nerve to call. I must admit, I'm quite pleasantly surprised."

She proceeded to officially congratulate me and provide all the mundane details of the show and her gallery.

Despite her distant and bored phone demeanor, I was surprised at how quickly I felt at ease with her. Perhaps it was the unassuming attitude behind the blunt edge of her words? Or the glimpse of biting sarcasm that we seemed to share? Well, whatever it was, I was beginning to chastise myself for being so nervous about returning her call.

That is, until she mentioned the big O.

"So, the opening will be on Friday evening," she said. "But, we'd like you to get here on Thursday, just so you have time to settle in and get some beauty rest before the big night."

"Wait a sec," I protested, abruptly bolting upright from the relaxed leaning stance I had been in only a second ago. "I'm really honored that I was chosen and all, but do you really need me to be there?" This last bit almost died in my throat, sounding more like a croak than the nonchalant question it was meant to be.

"Yes. Yes, I do. Our visitors will want to meet the artist," she replied.

_Of course_, I thought, rolling my eyes with disgust. I could already feel myself choking by the overwhelming stuffiness of the crowd that would close in around me. I swallowed hard at the image of the throng of little-black-clad ant-people, swarming on a fresh carcass.

"I don't really do the whole gallery opening schmoozing scene," I said, trying to keep the hyperventilation out of my voice.

"Mm-hmm. One of those, huh," she pondered, not even a drop of sympathy apparent in her tone. "Really, Sookie. I had high hopes you wouldn't turn out to be such a cliche." She paused for a moment, either to add drama, or to let me wallow alone in her disapproval, or both. "Unfortunately, it's a non-negotiable," she continued. "But I have found a way to sweeten the deal for you."

"Oh?" I wasn't aware we were cooking.

"Yes, you are a fan of the _Fiends_ show?"

Was this supposed to be a rhetorical question? I was beginning to worry that Pam was just trying to prove how much of a cliche I really was.

"Yeah, me and every other red-blooded girl on this continent," I answered.

She stifled a giggle. "Right. Well, there are two tickets to the season premiere of _Fiends_ in it for you."

I sat numbly through the rest of the conversation as she explained how they would take care of all travel expenses, that their driver would pick me up from the airport, and that I would be staying at a nearby hotel while in town. They were even going to give me a card to cover food and other 'entertainment incidentals,' as Pam put it.

Well, well, well -- an all-expense paid ticket to Hollywood AND a ticket to the premiere of my favorite show. Not only would I get a sneak peek at the show, I'd actually be in the same room as EN. I sure was glad that I was sitting down, and tried to ignore the simultaneous hyperventilating and drooling that the mere thought brought on.

A girl would have to be nuts to turn this down.

* * *

I grasped each side of the plastic tray, holding onto the tongs with one hand as I rocked the tray back and forth. I watched the liquid pool and roll from side to side, slowly drawing the forms out of the pearly gloss-white of the paper. The second increments of the timer beside me glowed lime-green, the loud ticks filling the silence between each dull thud of the tray against the counter. I leaned in, impatient as always to inspect the results, as if this would somehow speed up the process. The narrow bands of varying exposures came into focus, each becoming more distinctly separate with every passing wave of the liquid.

My eyes glazed over, settling into the hypnotic rhythms of my dark sanctuary, when I felt cool strong fingers clasp around my shoulders. I shivered at the sensation, yet found myself too entranced to move. He loosened his grip and turned his palms outwards, slowly moving down my arms. His fingertips just barely grazed my skin, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps in their meandering path. He stopped and hovered just above my wrist, tracing circles there with his thumb for the briefest of moments, before bringing his large hands down to rest over mine.

My breath hitched in my throat as I felt him move closer, pressing his very hard-to-ignore arousal against my back. He closed his hands around mine, helping me shake the tray back and forth. Moving in even closer, he leaned his face down to rest his chin against the top of my collarbone, nuzzling his cheek against my long blond hair falling between us. I closed my eyes and moaned softly, allowing myself to enjoy every delicious moment of this fantasy. His enticing, earthy scent surrounded me, making my mouth water and my knees grow weak. I leaned back into his broad, hard chest, enjoying every spot our bodies touched, especially the friction created where our arms rubbed against each other's as we moved our hands together, agitating the photo and each other.

But what I saw, when I finally got the courage to open my eyes and peek through the curtain of my hair, made me gasp in shock. I even sagged back a little, though it only served to bring me further into his embrace, causing him to tighten his arms around me. The mouth-watering hunk of man-meat that had invaded my darkroom was none other than Bjorn Erikson! Or, maybe fiend-meat was the more accurate term?

His eyes were closed behind his dark, thick-rimmed glasses, but those fair beautiful features and his strong, lickable jawline faintly glowing beside me, were unmistakable; and at such close proximity, all available air was sucked out of me. Oh, and that gorgeous long blond hair of his – falling over my shoulders, intertwining with my own, so that I could barely tell where his started and mine ended – well, let's just say I was happy to be able to rest most of my weight onto him. And I was happy _all_ over... and getting happier by the second... until the deafening buzz.

I flinched, opening my eyes with a start, frantically trying to orient myself so I could locate the timer and shut it off. He deftly reached over and stopped the offending noise, while he guided the tong, along with my hand, to take out the contact sheet. We held it in front of us above the developer bath, so that the excess liquid could drip off. I stared straight ahead, blinking, unable to wrench my gaze to what it should be looking at: the photo in front of me. Instead, I was hypnotized by the large pale hand devouring my own, his strong yet gentle fingers swallowing mine. _Well, Dayumn._ I wonder if it's true what they say about proportionality…

I leaned back a little, compensating for our height difference with a quick mental calculation and tried to gauge an answer. I gasped, my eyes growing wider at what I felt. He gave the picture one final shake before lowering it down towards the next tray in line, the stop bath, which would halt the development process started by the previous solution.

"How long?" he whispered, the low humming of his voice in my ear sending tantalizing chills to the very tips of my toes.

How long indeed. How long could the man _possibly_ be? Was it even physically possible for him to keep it in his pants with the sheer size of it? Or maybe he meant how long 'til I lose all semblance of self-control and rip those pants off? No, that's probably not what he meant. I felt my breath quicken. Get it together, girl. You're panting like a regular barn animal.

I finally willed my brain to work. "Th-thirty s-seconds," I stammered.

"Mmm..." was his only response, as he set the timer beside us. Why did it sound more like he was enjoying a sweet treat than affirming my response, I wondered, until my mind melted to mush at the touch of his hand on my stomach, pulling me even closer. He rocked the tray with his other hand, still wrapped around mine. It was all I could do to stop myself from mirroring the movement with my entire body.

He was burying his face deeper in my hair now, until he found that sensitive spot just behind my ear. He lingered there, lips hovering just above my skin, and flicked his cool tongue with practiced skill. I sighed, attempting to subdue the shivers that shook my body.

He tightened his arms around me and nibbled and sucked his way down my neck until his head was nestled into the crook, where he stayed for a few moments, inhaling deeply.

"When you smell like that--" he breathed into my neck, pausing to take another long sniff, "_lover,"_ he added, the word sliding into me, his lips and tongue caressing my skin.

"All I want to do is..." he trailed off into a growl, continuing his mouth's talented exploration down my arm. _Smell like what?_ I wondered. Pungent, acrid chemicals? A wet dog that got doused in vinegar? I didn't smell half as yummy as he did, that's for sure, his earthy, musky scent surrounding me. Like sex on a stick. _Exactly_ like I imagined a sexy vampire _would_ smell.

Just then, he found that delicate spot on my wrist, just below the palm. I cried out and bucked my hips, awakened out of my internal olfactory debate. I whimpered with desire as his mouth traveled across my palm and up my index finger, rubbing his soft, smooth lips against it. Parting his lips, he flicked his tongue out, teasing my nerves for an excruciating moment until he closed his mouth around it. His mouth was cool and wet, and I gasped at the rough texture of his tongue moving rhythmically against my finger.

"Ungh," I moaned, grinding against him. I gave into it, closing my eyes and leaning all my weight against him, until I felt the unmistakable sharpness of fangs bite down and draw blood. I spun around, pulling my body out of his embrace, but he was doing such unbelievably amazing things to my fingertip that I just couldn't bring myself to withdraw it. I rested the palm of my hand on his chest so that I could use it as leverage to pull my other hand away from his talented mouth, should I really want to... but I suppose I wasn't fully committed to that task. Instead, we danced a lust-dazed tango in my darkroom -- me backing up, one hand against his strong, hard chest, while he advanced towards me, sucking and licking away my defenses.

It was a precarious balance, and I was all too aware of its fragility. I was exercising just enough control to not completely give in to the fiend in my darkroom, but I feared that any little thing could tip the scales. And what came next was the farthest thing from the little that I could have imagined.

A large, warm hand snaked around my waist, while hot breath whispered against my ear. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite hard... unless you want him to," came a husky voice beside me. Turning my gaze onto my newest visitor, my breath hitched at the sight before me. The human half of the Erikson twins, Leif, was standing next to me, his glorious 6'4 frame bent down to nuzzle at my neck. While I personally much preferred his brother's long mane, I had to admit that his cropped hair did expose his beautiful features nicely and allowed for much easier access to his smooth, honey-toned cheek and the rough, stubble-covered jaw, which he was now rubbing ever-so-deliciously against my cheek.

Whatever parallel universe I had been dropped into, I silently prayed that I could stay here for a while, or at least come on regular visits.

I did what any self-respecting fangirl would do in this situation. I placed my free hand onto his massive shoulder. For support, of course! Dear _Lord_. My hand felt so tiny resting there, barely covering a third of it, if that. And the way his muscles rippled under that smooth, warm skin...

I sighed, leaning my cheek onto his, and inhaling deeply. Oh. My. _Gawd_. He even _smelled_ gorgeous. Like a summer breeze blowing against picturesque cliffs jutting over the rough Nordic seas_._ _Yum_.

Leif roughly wrapped my hair around his hand, moving it aside to expose my neck. His lips grazed along my jaw line, tracing its contour with searing kisses, his tongue darting out for a taste every so often. When he reached the base of my ear, he sucked on it for a moment then flattened his tongue against my skin and licked his way up in one quick, smooth motion, tugging my hair back to move my head against his hot, slick tongue. I felt my panties dampen instantly, and bit down on my lip to tamp down on the impending whimpers and moans that threatened to escape. He pulled back, hovering just above my skin as he blew on the wet spot, his breath both hot and cool against the wetness he left behind. A low moan escaped my lips at the exquisite sensation.

My trembling body only spurred on both brothers.

Leif made full use of his talented hand, traveling down my waist, stroking and caressing until he settled it on my hip, while sucking and licking my ear. I nearly lost it when Leif bit down on the lobe, roughly tugging on it with his teeth.

Meanwhile, Bjorn was continuing his erotic assault on my hand.

I could swear I heard a growl, but I couldn't be absolutely sure which brother it came from.

_Well, isn't double the flavor, double the fun?_ I tried to convince myself of that but had to admit that one Erikson twin was probably more than I could handle. Especially after the hard evidence I'd found just a few moments ago, evidence confirming the indisputable undeniable truth of the proportionality theory.

My eyes darted from Leif to Bjorn, unable to decide which gorgeous version of EN to settle on. Bjorn dropped onto one knee, caressing my thigh with one hand and my wrist with the other, and my decision was officially made: I would keep my long-held allegiance to Team Vamp. As I trembled and moaned at Bjorn's touch and gaze, his brother leaned in and hummed a familiar melody against my ear in the softest, sexiest voice.

I was nearly undone when he began to form the words.

"I'll be there for you," Leif sang, "when your fangs start to show."

My eyes shot open. "Wh-what?"

But Leif's only response was to lean in even closer and rub his cheek against mine.

Before I could get my bearings, Bjorn continued the song from his position below me.

"I'll be there for you, since we're brothers, you know."

Appalled, I began to back up, blinking rapidly in an attempt to make sense of what was going on. And to make sure my eyes and ears were still properly functioning.

I shut my eyes, horrified at how quickly this had all gone so wrong, and that's when they both broke into full-out song for the next line.

"_I'll be there for you, 'cause you're there for me too." _

Silence. Blessed silence surrounded me for one hopeful moment. I cracked open one eye just a sliver, daring a peek. I was just in time to see the brothers moving towards each other, their arms snaking around each other's shoulders in a brotherly embrace. They had those gorgeous grins plastered over both their faces, one with extended fangs, of course. As they started belting out that damned chorus again, I shut my eyes against the horror, willing it to end.

But they just wouldn't stop. In fact, they just kept getting louder and louder. I finally relented and opened my eyes again, only to find myself in my living room, wrapped in Gran's old quilt.

As I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, my phone lit up beside me, starting up that familiar tune all over again.

Ugh. I picked up the phone and raised it to my ear.

"Hey Amelia," I said, my voice groggy.

"Sook? Are you just waking up? At _four_ _in the afternoon_? " Amelia asked, her voice filled with wonder and amusement. "Well, I guess you'll adjust to the Hollywood lifestyle more easily than I thought." I could hear the distinct sounds of snickering.

Well, technically it was 6 PM, my time. But I wasn't in the mood to point that out to my best friend on the West coast. No need to give her more ammo than she already had.

"No – I just dozed off."

"So... did you get the tickets?" she asked with excitement in her voice.

My eyes darted over to the coffee table with guilt, trying not to think about how often I'd stared at those first-class airline tickets over the past few days, ever since they arrived in that now-easily-recognizable envelope from the F/Stop Gallery. "Yes, Ami. Landing in LAX, 2 PM. Next Thursday."

"You sure you don't want me to pick you up?"

"Yeah. Pam insisted that her driver _must_ earn his keep. I'll call you as soon as I'm settled."

California, here I come!

* * *

_A/N: So...was that good for you? *giggles * _

_Please let me know what you thought...and don't be shy – I want to know what works and what doesn't – it's the only way I'll improve :-) (Of course, if you do have constructive criticism, it goes down much smoother when it's wrapped in yummy compliments)._

_This one goes out to Steph who gave me the evil suggestion that I should include that catchy tune in every chapter. Well, I probably won't include it in every chapter – but I just couldn't resist this time!_

_Oh, and Amelia's nickname is pronounced Ah-Me, in case you were wondering._


	4. The O

_A/N: Hello my lovelies! So, I am just shocked and super flattered at the response this fic has gotten, and I know I have neglected you so – not a very good way of showing my thanks to all of you who read, reviewed, and added me to your alerts/faves._

_I have been very distracted – you can blame all the girls for coming up with contests that I just could not resist sinking my teeth into ;p So, now that I've gotten that out of my system, and got to finish my other mutli-chapter fic, I can devote my full, undivided attention to you. Yay!_

_If you're interested in reading my cowboy up! contest entry, I'll meet ya at the bottom with details. Yee Haw ;D_

_A million thanks and smoochies to my beta, VampLover1, for betaing this chapter with vampire speed, and for writing another hilarious Fiends clip. I loves yous ;p Any mistakes remaining are totally mine ;p_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Sookie Stackhouse Series or the HBO series True Blood_

* * *

**CHAPTER 3: THE O**

_There is only you and your camera. The limitations in your photography are in yourself, for what we see is what we are_

_~Ernst Haas_

* * *

_**Thursday**_

"Ah, Sookie," I purred, relishing in the shock widening the girl's innocent sky blue eyes as she spotted me waiting for her in the car. "Welcome to the City of Angels."

The petite blonde froze in mid-bend, her voluptuous breasts peeking most invitingly above her thin rayon sweater, imprinted with a garish floral pattern. The only redeeming quality of the eyesore of a top was that it did accentuate the golden sparkle of her hair, now tumbling in big, loose waves around her shoulders. She kept one hand on the door, the other clutching tightly at the handles of a gift bag as she teetered just outside the car with uncertainty.

I didn't even attempt to hide the smirk that was curling my lips, as I patted my hand on the seat beside me. "Well, c'mon, little one. I don't bite."

I waited for her to slide into the seat next to me and close the door. As soon as she did, I met the driver's gaze in the mirror briefly, and with the flick of my eye, an almost imperceptible gesture which had become second nature for both of us, I motioned him to start driving. As the car pulled away from the curb of LAX, I leaned in, placing my hand on Sookie's shoulder and winked. "Unless you'd like me to, that is."

Her wince was as delicious as her scent – sweet and tart, like strawberries warmed by the sun. Yum. She shrank away from me, at least as far as the car would allow her, and crossed her arms in adorable annoyance at my peals of uncontrollable laughter.

"Well hello to you too, Pam. Are you quite done teasing the country bumpkin?" she demanded with narrowing eyes.

"Oh, Sookie," I replied, patting her knee. "This is going to be so much fun!"

After a moment's glare off, I allowed my gaze to wonder to the gift bag that Sookie was clutching her small hand around.

"So," I said, cocking my head to one side. "Do tell. What's in the bag?"

Sookie's excitement overtook her anxiety. She set the bag between us, opening it up and taking out her new purchase. She unfolded the t-shirt and held it up to her chest, modeling it.

I could feel amusement light up in my eyes, but bit down on my response, so that the girl could provide me with even more adorable teasing material.

"I just had to get it as soon as I saw it," she exclaimed, her charming southern drawl becoming more pronounced with her enthusiasm. "See? It says I heart LA! That's my home state!"

At this, I could no longer contain myself. I put my hand to my stomach, doubling over as if in pain, as the giggles rolled out of me. I pulled myself together when I heard what sounded like a growl coming out of the innocent little blonde sitting beside me.

"Oh, God, Sookie," I cackled, resting my hand on her shoulder. "You are just too adorably entertaining. That stands for L.A., sweetie, as in Los Angeles? The city you just landed in?"

I sobered up at the stricken look that clouded the girl's face. I stroked her cheek with the back of my hand with an affection that surprised both of us as I whispered, "Aren't you just a bag of precious. So … sweet."

My eyes lingered on her for another moment, before reaching down to unzip the tote bag at my side, withdrawing a large charcoal-gray folder. I placed it in Sookie's lap and then leaned back, crossing my arms, waiting for Sookie to open it. The girl traced the magenta letters spelling F/Stop while her eyes darted about, procrastinating the discovery of what awaited her inside the thick folder.

I dug my fingernails into my arms, biting down on the urge to count the seconds until Sookie gathered enough courage to open the damn folder. When she finally opened it, her mouth dropped so far down she was practically licking the brochure that was on the top.

She whipped her head towards me, her eyes as wide open as her mouth had been a moment ago.

"The O Hotel?" she screamed her disbelief. "What's next, the Get Some A Bar & Grill?"

I snorted. "Oooh, now that sounds like a hot spot!" I allowed myself a brief moment to enjoy the little blonde's huffing and puffing, until I managed to pull myself together once again. "Oh, little one, the acronyms are a mere coincidence, I assure you. It's a beautiful hotel, and very convenient to the location of the F/Stop."

Sookie rolled her eyes. "Oh, I just bet it is," she quipped before proceeding to open the brochure.

The O Hotel was one of those small boutique hotels that seemed to be popping up everywhere now. Except the O was gorgeous while pulling off the quaint charm of the boutique experience without trying too hard. Quite a rare feat, especially in this town. It was like the elegant, simple beauty of a Frank Stella compared to the self-important existential airs of a Pollock. God, sometimes I hated how even my damn metaphors were based on the art world.

I loved the O so much that we had a long-term lease for one of their Flower suites. Situated in the heart of downtown, it was convenient for our numerous out of town guests, but it also came in handy for my own uses. My own apartment was in Venice Beach, so it was great to have a place to stay when I wanted to have a shorter commute the next morning, or when I liked a date enough to share my bed, but not so much that I wanted to bring her to my home. Or both.

The Flower suite was five hundred square feet of pure West coast style luxury, named so for the gorgeous view of Flower Street. Like other suites at the hotel, it was laid out in an open, airy floor plan with a separate bedroom and living room. The living room area featured a flat screen television as well as a mini-fridge stocked with everything from caviar to a wide assortment of chocolate-covered treats.

Everything was of the highest quality, of course. The California king-sized bed had one of those memory foam mattresses that molds to your body, with adjustable firmness settings and the bedding was hypoallergenic, with 1000 thread count Egyptian cottonsheets. The bathroom was fit for a queen as well, with a large roman tub and adjustable, massaging showerhead. It even had heated floors that automatically turned on with the lights.

Since it was our suite exclusively, I had taken the liberty of adding in some of my own upgrades. This included an office area in the living room, featuring an ergonomic designer chair and a Macbook Pro which was stowed away in a desk hutch. I had also put in a Gaggia cappuccino maker. It was fully automated, allowing you to brew pretty much any type of coffee drink your heart desired, with a touch of a button.I simply could not stay anywhere without one of these, and I wholeheartedly believed no one else should either.

Anyway, I was so looking forward to seeing Sookie's expression when she discovered all the luxurious little details of her plush new digs; but alas, I just could not find a good enough excuse to accompany her to the room. Oh well, I just hoped it would make convincing her to stay there longer that much easier.

I forced myself out of my musings. I would worry about how to get her to stay, later. Now was certainly not the time. I did not want to scare this adorable, skittish little kitten away. No, I could wait until she was a bit more settled in, I thought, as I watched her leaf through the pages of the brochure.

I noticed her glance up every so often from the glossy pictures to look at me. Her eyes traveled up and down my body, taking in my attire – a powder blue cashmere fitted top paired with a tailored charcoal gray pencil skirt that tapered to just below my knees. After her initial assessment, she kept looking back and forth from me to the brochure in her hands. I could barely contain the sparkle of amusement and satisfaction from my eyes, fully aware of the striking similarities in style between myself and my favorite hotel that my petite blonde companion was noticing. It was a sleek and elegant beauty, without being pretentious or unapproachable.

"Don't worry, there won't be a written quiz," I teased then put up my hands in a gesture of surrender at the burning glare from Sookie, softening my smirk with a wink. "Okay, okay. I'll stop, for now. You're just so much fun! Now, if you'll flip over to the last page, you'll see your room key."

Sookie pulled the key card out and put it away in her wallet.

"Now, we'll be there in a few minutes, so listen carefully like a nice little girl," I told her, smiling congenially and patting her knee, ignoring her furious sighs. "You'll have the rest of today to settle in. Tomorrow, you must get to the gallery by seven pm for the opening... and you must, I repeat must, stay for at least an hour." I paused a moment for an exceptionally impressive eye roll. "Look, Sookie, it's not my favorite thing, either. The lot of them are pretentious, and shallow, mindless sheep. But you have to put in your time and... enthrall the vermin, if you will."

"Okay, fine," Sookie agreed with a sigh, her shoulders sagging in resignation.

"Good," I said with a pleased nod, smoothing out my skirt. "Now, it's not that I don't trust your word...but, I do have an insurance plan, to make sure that you'll be there."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrow in question. I was pleased to find both curiosity and thinly veiled amusement in her eyes.

"Yes, I don't like leaving things to chance," I replied with a smile growing on my own lips. "You will be receiving those much-coveted tickets to the Fiends premiere at the gallery tomorrow night."

I let her stew on that for a moment, before continuing. "Well, we're almost there, but we do need to talk about this, first." As I said this, I waved my hand, gesturing at her hideous outfit.

"This?" Sookie asked, mimicking my hand gesture and raising her eyebrow.

"Yes, this," I repeated, fingering the thin, rough rayon material of her shirt like it was greasy garbage, before wiping my hand on the car seat. I considered fishing out a clean-wipe from my purse to rub in my point even further, but opted for putting on my sunglasses instead. "It's quite blinding."

It really was blinding, even though I had probably overdone the teasing just a bit. The mustard-yellow skirt hung in shapeless pleats down to her knees. But it wasn't a muted Grey-Poupon color – oh, no, it was a horrendous, poke-your-eyes-out French's mustard hue. The white shirt, covered with a pattern of roses an even more repulsive shade of yellow, clung to her in a manner indicative of the cheap material, and the even cheaper labor that had gone into producing it. She looked like trailer trash all dressed up for church in her cheap, Wal-mart Sunday best.

Well, at least she seemed to have good taste in shoes, I consoled myself, as I gazed with grudging appreciation at her cream patent leather pumps.

"I'm sorry Sookie, but this just will not do," I informed her as I raised my sunglasses, placing them on top of my head and looking straight into her eyes. "Whatever you wear on you own personal time is your business, I suppose, but when you represent the F/Stop, you must dress more appropriately. Tomorrow, I will send over a suitable dress for you to wear to the opening."

I gave Sookie a stare that said that this was not up for negotiation.

"Fine, I guess. While I'm technically working, at least," Sookie conceded with a pout, just as the car pulled up to the curb of the O Hotel. "But just make sure it's not black."

I leaned in for a quick embrace, brushing my lips lightly against her cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow night, then."

When the driver opened the door for her, Sookie jumped a little at the unexpected movement. It was quite obvious that she did not have any experience with service personnel. She pulled herself together and got out, waiting on the sidewalk while the driver retrieved her luggage. Just as he was handing it to her and she started to move towards the hotel, I lowered the window. She tensed a bit at the sound then turned around to face me. Leaning forward, amusement irresistibly tugging at the corners of my mouth, I left her with one last tease. I just couldn't help myself. "I personally think you should burn those eyesores you call clothes, but as long as I don't have to lay my eyes on them again, it's all the same to me."

She turned her back on my maniacal cackles and stalked towards the lobby.

* * *

I wrapped the robe more tightly around me and hopped onto the roomy bed, luxuriating in my swanky accommodations. The robe was that ultra comfortable kind that fancy spas had, where the inside was a fluffy terry cloth towel, while the outside was a plush velour material. It felt like being hugged by a cloud. A pink, cotton candy cloud. I had discovered it hanging on the bathroom door, right after I stepped onto the heated bathroom floor after the most amazing bubble bath of my life. The delicious scent of vanilla and almonds still clung to me. I could definitely get used to this, I thought, as I stretched my arms across the bed.

The remote control, propped up on the nightstand, caught my eye. Ooooh, I hoped HBO was part of the room package. They were sure to be playing some old episodes of Fiends since this was the week of the season three premiere. Sitting up, I unwrapped the towel from around my head, snuggled under the covers, and turned on the television. I watched as the list of channels and corresponding scheduled shows scrolled on the screen while I began to gently comb out my wet curls. A wide grin spread over my lips when I saw that Fiends was just about to start. I quickly tuned in to the correct channel and held my breath until the reception came in. Score.

Oooh, I wondered which episode they were going to air.

Scene: Door opens. BJORN and a slim brunette, SELAH, enter the apartment, upstage left. She is well-dressed, her hair and makeup perfect. He is wearing tight jeans with a turtleneck and blazer. He looks delicious; she looks like a bitch on four inch designer fuck-me pumps.

SELAH: "So, this is where you and your twin brother live?" (she looks around her, somewhat disdainfully)

BJORN: "Yes, this is home, sweet home."

BJORN tosses his keys on the hall table and adjusts his glasses before heading to the open kitchen, stage right. SELAH settles herself on the couch, downstage.

BJORN: "Care for a drink, Selah? I'm afraid my brother and I don't keep much in the fridge besides beer and blood."

SELAH: "Oh, I don't mind joining you in a blood. You might not know this about me yet, Bjorn, but I always like trying NEW things. In fact, my colleagues at work affectionately call me 'Sampling Selah,' or something endearing like that, when they don't know I'm listening to them talk about me."

BJORN shakes his head in amazement and warms two bottles of blood in the microwave. BJORN walks downstage, handing SELAH a bottle of blood as he sits on the couch next to her.

SELAH: "Thanks… and if you don't mind me saying so, Bjorn, you could do so much better by investing in real estate, rather than wasting your money on rent each month. I just listed a chic condo near the most fashionable shops… I could show it to you sometime…"

SELAH places the bottle on the coffee table and turns to face him. She runs her perfectly manicured fingernails through his long blond hair then softly kisses him.

SELAH: "And I could show you ALL of my assets if you're interested…"

Before SELAH can go any further, BJORN stops her and gently pushes her away.

BJORN: "Any decisions regarding a change in living arrangements would have to be discussed with my brother as well, Selah. Leif and I are very close…"

SELAH: "Ah, you two are close?" (she laughs) "I just think it's wonderful when two brothers, sexy twin brothers no less, can share in things they both enjoy. Tell me, Bjorn, what things do you both like to do together? Hmm? Maybe we should call your brother and see if he can join us tonight for a… threesome…"

SELAH's fingers start working their way down BJORN's chest and get dangerously close to his lap before BJORN grabs her hand to stop her.

BJORN: "NO! Leif is busy tonight. Besides, you and I don't even know each other that well, Selah. Why don't we talk and get to know one another first?"

SELAH sighs and returns her hands to her own lap. She is clearly annoyed at being turned down.

SELAH: "Fine, Bjorn, whatever. As you probably would expect, by looking at me, I won the million-dollar sales award last year. I am VERY good at what I do and can be very persuasive when I need to be. Now tell me, Bjorn. What's it like to be a vampire? Can I see your fangs? Is it true that vampires can last… all… night… long?"

BJORN: "But don't you want to know what I do for a living, Selah? What my interests are? What I'm like as a person?" (he asks in hurt shock)

SELAH: "Not really, Bjorn. I do want to know what's under those pants, though…" (she aggressively reaches to unbutton his jeans, but he quickly stands up and steps away from her)

BJORN: "Out! Get out of my apartment, NOW!" (he points to the door)

SELAH: "What!? You are actually asking ME, successful realtor Selah Pumphrey, to leave?" (she stands up, indignant) "No man has EVER not wanted to be with me!"

BJORN: "Well, you finally found one who doesn't! All you care about is bedding a vampire. You don't care at all about the man beneath the fangs and pale skin, do you?"

SELAH: "Oh, for god's sake! Why did I have to end up with the one sensitive vampire in the world who would rather talk to me than screw me?"

BJORN: "OUT! Your kind is not welcome here. Go do your 'sampling' elsewhere!"

SELAH gathers herself and her purse, then heads for the door.

SELAH: "You have no idea what you're missing, buddy! I am the BEST at everything I do!" (slams door on her way out)

BJORN sinks into the couch, his head in his hands.

BBRRING… BBRRING… the room phone on the hotel nightstand was ringing, so I lowered the volume on the TV. The episode was almost over, anyway. At least I got to see the part where Bjorn threw the bitch out on her skinny butt. When the episode first aired last season, all of the fans on the website chat threads were thrilled that Selah was shot down. Bjorn's vulnerable sensitivity, after all, was what made him so attractive to his fans. But I suppose I could understand the character Selah's motivations; it is easy to forget sometimes that there really is a person underneath all that hot, adorkable sexiness. And who wouldn't rather screw him than talk to him?

I leaned over to answer the phone, wondering if it was Pam checking up on how her little country bumpkin was settling in. I was shocked to find out who was actually on the other end of the line.

"Miss Stackhouse?" a low and husky masculine voice asked expectantly.

"Yes?" I answered, with honey-sweet politeness that would have made my Gran proud.

"Well, hi there," the deep voice continued, revealing a hint of a sexy accent. "This is Eric Northman, I was just calling to–"

"Pardon?"

"Oh, my name is Er– "

I interrupted him again with a snort. "Oh, I heard you just fine before."

Silence stretched its awkward fingers between us, before he finally broke it with an eloquent "Oh."

That earned yet another unladylike snort from me. "You honestly expect to me believe that this is the Eric Northman? As in, the star of Fiends Eric Northman?" After a moment's pause, I added, "How much did Pam pay you?"

My caller responded with a snort of his own. "Pamela didn't give me any money, or any other form of compensation. Although, considering how difficult you're making this, I'm starting to think maybe I should have demanded something in return."

I huffed at the phone, pulling it away from my face for a moment and glaring at it. Ugh! Considering how difficult I was making it? I returned the phone to my ear. "You mean, how difficult I'm making it for you to make fun of the stupid country bumpkin?" I continued, brushing off the amused chuckles I could clearly hear coming from the other end. "You can tell Pamela that I didn't fall for her ridiculous little prank, and that despite her childish attempt to amuse herself at my expense, I will still be there tomorrow, as promised. I did give her my word, after all, so I'll be there at seven pm sharp."

I slammed the phone down on the receiver, not even dignifying the imposter with a chance to reply to my angry rant.

Leaning back against the fluffy pillows, I could feel a smile creeping onto my lips. That Pam. As irritated as I was by this cheap trick, I had to admit that there was something about her that I enjoyed, despite myself.

My eyes traveled to the phone when it began ringing again. Huh. Persistent, if nothing else, I thought as I wrapped the blanket more tightly around myself and raised the volume of the TV.

A few moments later, the red message light on the phone started blinking. Unbelievable. Who heard of a prank caller actually leaving a message? I scooted up to a more upright position as I picked up the receiver to retrieve my message. One message. Well, geez, I wonder who that could be?

I dialed up the extension to retrieve the message, and I could practically hear the smirk in that husky let's-do-the-horizontal-mambo voice.

"Sookie Stackhouse. This is Eric Northman. I assure you that yes, it is the Eric Northman. (sexy, self-satisfied chuckle) As I was trying to tell you a few moments ago, before you so rudely interrupted me and refused to let me get in one word, I was just calling to welcome you to the city of Angels, and to congratulate you on winning the young photographer contest. I was also going to mention that I look forward to seeing you at our premiere screening party on Saturday. I do so look forward to putting a face to that sexy snort of yours."

* * *

A/N: Sooo...what'd ya think? Did ya like Pam pov? Are you as excited as me for the big opening at the F/Stop? Pssst...if you leave me some review love, I could be convinced to reward you with a peek for next chapter. * wink wink * Yeah, yeah, that was totally bribery, but I can't help it! You've got me so addicted to your crack-a-licious review luv ;D


	5. Picture Perfect Fiend

_A/N: Hello my darlings. Are you surprised to see me back so soon? I know, a new chapter practically two weeks in a row! Plus – this one's a fat 5400+ words! It's 'cause I love you (and EN) so much ;D_

_A big thanks to nycsnowbird, who lovingly (and with super vamp speed) beta'd this chapter. Any mistakes remaining are purely mine ;p_

_Oh, and one last thing. This chapter goes out to three of my favorite girlies: Joie and Vio (and all the other Nutella addicts out there); and, to Lan – my favorite adorkable shrugging li'l fangirl ;D _

_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine. _

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**CHAPTER 4: PICTURE PERFECT FIEND**

I didn't want to tell the tree or weed what it was. I wanted it to tell me something and through me express its meaning in nature

~Wynn Bullock

* * *

_**Sookie**_

_**F/Stop Gallery, Friday.**_

6:55pm. I slipped the phone back in my purse as we headed towards the steps of the F/Stop Gallery, but I stopped just short of the door.

"Oh, no, no, no, I don't think so, Sook," Amelia hissed at my ear as she applied more pressure to my back, pushing me towards the entrance. "I didn't just drop half my paycheck on several rounds of Nutellatinis just to have you chicken out now."

I stopped struggling against her momentarily, twisting around to take another look at my friend. Well, she did treat me to those amazing Nutellatinis. Normally, I'm strictly a gin and tonic kind of girl, and I do tend to thumb my nose at girly cocktails that barely taste like you're drinking anything, but I had been hearing so much lately about this wildly spreading craze for Nutella. So, I figured it was worth a shot. I mean, I have yet to meet any kind of chocolate that I didn't like, and I was curious to see if it was really as orgasmic as it was hyped up to be.

Well, to say that we did a reprisal of _When Harry Met Sally _would be the understatement of the decade. The heavenly concoction itself—a blend of Nutella, espresso, and vodka—was enough to throw any girl into the throes of wild passion, but what put it over the top was the Nutella dipped rim that had been ingeniously coated with crushed hazelnuts. You could tell that they had gone to the trouble of roasting the hazelnuts with salt, and that slight tang set the chocolate factor soaring. I vaguely remember thinking that this could be extremely dangerous as we polished off our first round, and started on our next.

My clenched muscles softened as I finally relented against my friend. She immediately sensed my resignation and pushed me the rest of the way towards the doors of the gallery.

I stared down at the ground as we walked in and dragged my feet, hoping the friction would somehow halt, or at least slow down our movement towards the gates of doom that loomed before me. No such luck. Instead, Amelia ushered me through the doors, and when I finally looked up, I found myself headed straight into the waiting arms of one very eager and grinning Miss Pamela Ravenscroft.

"So nice of you to join us, Sookie," she purred into my hair as she embraced me, then held me at arms length, no doubt to admire her handiwork.

I'd hate to admit it, but she did pick a beautiful dress for me. It wasn't all that difficult to convince myself to wear it. It was a strapless floor length dress in the faintest shade of pink. The loose folds of the silky material flowed and swooshed elegantly around my body, in a way that was both modest and sexy at the same time.

She expressed her approval with a brief nod and sparkle of her eye, then linked her hand in mine and led me into the room. As soon as I spotted the group of patrons, the black of their clothes blending into each other, I instinctively froze in my spot, only to be met with an unamused glare from Pam.

"Sookie, Sookie, Sookie ... I thought we came to an understanding."

Her look softened as she registered the sheer terror reflected back at her from my widening eyes. She pulled me in closer, bending down to whisper into my ear. "Come on now, time to be a big girl. I won't let them bite. Promise"

Noticing my body relax against hers, and a smile form on my lips, her own smirk widened into a pleased grin. We both snagged a glass of champagne from the server as he passed by with a tray, and made our way to the first group of eager attendees.

The first wave of small talk seemed to go okay.

But then the questions came. Relentless, repetitive and each more ridiculous than the next, as far as I was concerned.

"So, Miss Stackhouse, what inspires you?"

_Um, I dunno, life?_ I plastered a polite smile on my face as I frantically searched for a more appropriate answer. "Um ... I don't know that there's anything in particular," I offered, my body tensing as disappointment clouded over the faces in front of me, the excited smiles visibly dimming. I quickly added, "I mean ... it's so hard to put something like that into words, y'know?"

I didn't dare another glance into the hungry, predatory eyes in front of me, so as soon as I ran out of words to fill the tense silence, I dove into the solace of the booze in my hand, tipping the remainder of the champagne into my dry throat. Spotting another server winding his way around my audience, I exchanged my empty glass for a full one as he passed by me, holding onto my next dose of liquid courage as if it were an anchor, or a safety button. What I really wished for was one of those big red Staples "Easy" buttons. No such luck.

The questions continued, forcing me out of my fantasy.

"Oh, of course, Miss Stackhouse. But ... what kinds of subjects catch your obviously very talented eye?"

_Oh, well, obvious, fawning flattery will get you nowhere with this country bumpkin_, I thought with a wince. Hadn't Pam warned them that I don't bite on pathetic, empty, pandering compliments? After another exasperated sigh, which I'd hoped could pass for a thoughtful one, even though the warning glare from Pam assured me otherwise, and another large gulp of champagne, I replied. "Well, I don't know that it's anything in particular. If I see a picture, and I'm lucky enough to have my camera in my hands at the time, I take it."

More blank, disappointed stares. And some feet shuffles.

"Well, what I mean to say is ... I'm not one for planning. Plans never work out anyway, right? I just let it sorta happen. I mean, there's beautiful pictures all around us, all you have to do is learn how to see them." _There. I see your pretentious-smarty-pants airs, and raise you a score of corny-romantic-load-of-b.s. Is that enough for you to gnaw on for a while?_

But they just kept advancing, hunger and need in their glassy stares. I downed the rest of my drink. "Well, it was really nice to meet y'all! I really do appreciate your interest, and coming to the show n' all. But, I was really looking forward to checking it out myself, what with never having seen my work displayed like this. So, if you'll excuse me ..." I trailed off as I began to back up.

I glanced over at Pam, relieved at the barely perceptible nod of approval she graced me with. I was already getting a headache, so I happily took it as silent permission for brief respite from the suffocating, needy crowds. Exhaling a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding, I continued backing away slowly, quite shocked at how well my excuse was going over. I could practically see the neon exit sign, lighting my way.

I was not a little surprised that my escape was going as well as it was. But, I'm not really known for my graceful exits.

Oooof!

I had almost made it when I walked right back into a wall. Hard. Well, I was moving pretty fast (or at least trying to), and it felt like a very hard wall, but walls don't grab your arms with large, warm hands to steady you. Also, walls aren't usually warm, I observed, continuing down my ridiculous mental checklist.

I froze, took a few short, entirely too-loud breaths to steady myself, although those mighty strong hands were doing a fine job of it all by themselves, and twisted my neck up and back to look at my human wall.

Oh. My. Gawwwwd.

This can _not_ be happening to me.

I was deathly mortified, but I was also secretly jumping up and down, not believing my luck.

I was standing in the arms of Eric Northman!

EN. The man just did not meet a camera that didn't instantly fall in love with him. I had wondered if he was just obscenely photogenic, or always looked this perfect in real life too. Boy oh boy. I had no idea.

If I was any closer to him, the top of my head would be touching his, um, well, I was going to say chin, but that would only be possible if he was a mere human. But seeing as he must be a Norse god dropped from the gracious heavens, I realized that even if I stood on the very tips of my toes, I could only pray to barely reach his nipples.

Speaking of, they were almost staring at me from underneath his shirt, unbuttoned down to his chest. Oh, dear lord have mercy. He was wearing that gorgeous gray suit that he seemed to like so much. And, hey, who was I to complain? I enjoyed seeing him in it, just as much as he apparently enjoyed wearing it. I won't lie. I was a bit disappointed that he opted against his trademark see through black t-shirt for a white oxford. Huh. I guess he was going for more of a proper, dressy look for the stuffy gallery types?

Part of me wanted to run away and hide. But the other part told me that millions of girls, me included, would kill to be this close him, and would probably be willing to go on a murderous rampage if it meant they could spend a few precious, breathless seconds enveloped in his strong arms like this.

Breathe, girl, breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

Oh shit. I was sure that if you looked up the definition of OSM (that's Oh Shit Moment) in the dictionary it had to have an accompanying photo of this moment.

"Sookie Stackhouse. I was hoping to run into you."

A blinding flash snapped me out of my daze. We both whipped our head in its direction, just in time to see the satisfied grin spread across Amelia's face as she admired the photo she'd just snapped.

"Ami!" I hissed at her, feeling my cheeks grow hot with a blush.

"What?" she inquired too innocently, still admiring the photo in her cellphone. "He's used to it," she add with a nonchalant shrug. "Aren't ya, Eric?"

"Amelia," I admonished, rushing over to her and grabbing her by the arm. "I don't think we're on a first name basis yet."

"Oh that's fine," came his deep, husky voice from entirely too close. "I prefer Eric."

Heh. As do, no doubt, most girls in this room, I thought with a smirk as I glared at Amelia, grateful the _Eric_ only had a view of the back of my head. Unfortunately, my grip on her arm was not strong enough to hold on to my slippery little friend, as she moved around me and bounded towards him.

"My turn, " she said with a devious smile, handing me the phone as she passed by me. "You don't mind, do you , _Eric_?" She did not miss the opportunity to put an emphasis on his preferred name.

He agreed, of course, with one of those signature EN winks. Thud. Well, that was one thing I had greatly admired about him—he was always extremely generous with the hordes of adoring fans that wanted a picture. I just wasn't too keen on playing that role in the middle of my first gallery show. Oh well. Beggars can't be choosers.

I raised the phone to take the picture, my eyebrow quirking as I noticed Amelia's roving hands. Geesh. Girl wasn't shy, that's for sure.

After the flash went off again, she bounced back in my direction, reaching for her phone. Her squeal was deafening what she got a peek at the goods. Subtlety was definitely not in her skill set.

Eric just stood there, stuck to the spot, staring at me intently.

My heart thumped loudly in my ears, and my throat was entirely too dry for me to formulate any kind of verbal response. So I shrugged. _I freaking shrugged at EN! _I immediately turned bright red at the utter lameness of my response. EN invites you to take a picture wrapped in his gorgeous arms, and you _shrug_? Amelia gave me a rough shove in his direction, and I hurriedly closed the rest of the distance between us, hoping he hadn't notice the massive blush.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as I snaked my own arms around his slim waist. Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea, this man smelled good enough to eat. If anyone ever came up with a way to blend sex and sugar, well, this must be what that heady concoction would smell like. Yum cubed. Okay, well, only a sugar junky such as myself would have that fantasy, but whatever.

My mouth was beginning to water at the thought, when I suddenly felt hot breath at my ear. "That shade of pink is beautiful on you," he whispered, causing me to snort just as the flash went off again. I somehow didn't think he was talking about my dress.

"Ahhh ... there's that sexy snort," he whispered with an almost audible smirk.

My breath caught in my throat.

I was absolutely mortified that it was actually EN that had called. _And that I had hung up on, _I reminded , it was also becoming crystal clear, practically as soon as he opened that beautiful mouth of his, that real life EN was just as much an egomaniac as Leif, the human half of the Erikson twins. His long hair may have fooled me for the first few moments, but I knew that he was about as far from adorkably cute Bjorn as was humanly possible.

I rushed over to Amelia's side, grateful for an excuse to escape his snare. "C'mon Ami. Let's go look at the show," I said, grabbing her hand.

I froze at the sound of Eric, clearing his throat behind me. "Would you ladies mind if I join you?"

All I could manage was another damn shrug of my shoulders as I tightened my grip on Amelia's hand and we moved towards the first photo.

**

* * *

**

It was a strange but thrilling feeling to see my work hung on the walls. The photos were framed in glossy, thin black frames around a slightly off-white mat. This was my favorite treatment for black and white photographs, because it really set off the print without attracting any undue attention. As we walked through the gallery, I also noticed that the lighting had been carefully adjusted to illuminate each piece just right. I was really touched by all these little details that Pam had obviously paid such close attention to.

I could feel the groping eyes of the crowds follow me around, but thankfully they had gotten the hint and kept their distance. EN, on the other hand, did not. I would never have admitted it out loud, but I didn't really mind. Hey, what girl wouldn't want to have her very own Norse-god puppy-dog at arm's length? Well, not that he was anything remotely resembling a puppy-dog, but he was practically following me around like one. I knew I should probably keep him at a safe distance, as he seemed to be the stereotypical Hollywood playboy, but, I was kind of flattered that once we began looking at my work, he seemed to be genuinely interested in it.

I was also surprised to be oddly comforted by his close presence. You see, I have this strange sixth sense. I am very sensitive to people's emotions. Not in any useful kind of way, like I can sense when someone's lying, or something. No, it's just that I'm easily affected by people's moods. My Gran always tried to convince me it was a gift, but I couldn't bring myself to see it that way. I mean, I could go from happily skipping along, minding my own business, to all of a sudden being morbidly depressed, just because someone else was having a bad day.

This was actually one of the major reasons I didn't want to come to this thing. I knew it had the potential of being incredibly draining. So, I was happy now to have Amelia, the eternal energy booster bunny, on my arm, and EN, who seemed, so far at least, to be unusually energy neutral, at my back.

But still, the crowds were milling about, as if just looking for a chance to penetrate my shields of protection. I was also getting antsy as we continued walking through the gallery because I still hadn't spotted the one picture I had been looking for—the one that Gran had sent in, which had won the competition for me.

Just then, a waiter walked by with a tray of what looked like miniature edible artworks. We each grabbed a few items to nibble on, and continued our leisurely, silent walk through the gallery.

An amused smile played on my lips as I noticed that each piece had exactly the same label on it. _Sookie Stackhouse. Untitled. Black & white photograph._ Pam could have easily gotten a volume discount on printing these, even though I was quite positive she would shudder at just the thought of doing such a thing.

I remembered how highly annoyed she'd gotten when we were working out the details of the show, which she'd made abundantly clear to me by the loud sighs that I could hear coming from her. She thought I was being stubborn and uncooperative, refusing to provide her with titles, and even dates. In all fairness, I had no idea when I took most of my pictures, and I'd never bothered with titles. It just seemed like too much work, and kind of pointless. Anyway, after our final discussion of this issue, I distinctly remember telling her that for all I cared, she could number them. At least that got an amused chuckle.

I was starting to get really nervous now as we continued touring the gallery, and still hadn't spotted that photograph. Just before we completed the loop, almost reaching the place where we had begun our tour of the exhibition, I breathed a sigh of relief as my eyes finally found what they had been searching for.

I had taken this picture almost ten years ago, but looking at it always brought me back to that day. I could almost feel the warm rays of the sun streaming through the kitchen window, shining a blanket of lazy languor over Gran, as she stood at the counter. I had captured her as she was lost in one of her favorite activities, kneading dough for one of her delicious concoctions, eyes closed and mouth slightly pursed in an expression of concentration and pure pleasure. From the ¾ profile angle of the shot, the edges of her silver hair almost glowed where the sunlight hit it, in dramatic contrast to the swirls of dark gray tones that defined the large waves of her long hair, falling over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back. A smile crept across my lips. I could almost feel her standing here beside me.

That is, until I was interrupted by one of the circling vermin.

"E-Excuse me," he said. "Miss Stackhouse?"

Tension stiffened my body as I spun around to answer. "Yes?"

"May I ask you a quick question?"

"Sure," I replied with little enthusiasm, grateful for Amelia and Eric flanking my sides protectively.

"Well, I just wanted to say... I absolutely love the candid quality of your photos," he began.

Oh, why did I sense a big, huge, _but_ coming.

"But..."

And there it was.

"I wonder... what is the meaning you are trying to convey?"

I was momentarily shocked that he didn't notice the steam coming out of my ears. But then, I had to fight against the smirk that threatened to curl at the corner of my mouth, as I was reminded of one of my favorite artists, Warhol. The critics had so desperately clung to him, practically begging him to reveal the greater meaning of his work—oh, how they desired it to be a commentary on sad nature and pitfalls of our consumerist society—but he never admitted to anything more than creating beautiful pictures, and chasing after his 15 minutes of fame.

I downed the rest of the champagne in my glass, before collecting myself to answer the question. Another one down the hatch.

"I just try to capture what is in front of me," I replied, looking off to the side to hide the annoyance in my eyes. "It's up to you where you let it take you."

God, how I loved Amelia. Even though we'd known each other for almost two years electronically, we'd only met face to face a few hours ago. Yet, she knew exactly what I wanted without me even speaking a word out loud—it was as if she could read my mind, and she wasn't too shy to worry about being polite or proper.

"Excuse us," she said, not really asking a question, as she looped her arm through mine and led me away.

We made our way towards the other side of the room, and sat down on one of the benches, absentmindedly munching on the food that remained on our plates.

I raised my hand to my head, massaging my temples absentmindedly. I wasn't even aware that I had made such an obvious gesture, so I was startled when EN leaned in to inquire about it.

"You okay?" he asked.

My hand shot up to cover my mouth, attempting to hide the uncontrollable giggle that erupted. Hmm ... what should I tell him? _Oh, I'm just fine EN ... just the needy, depressed emotions in this room are piercing daggers through my head and weighing me down like a ton of bricks? Crazy much?_

"Uh ... no. I'm fine," I managed after suppressing another wave of giggles. "I just haven't eaten much today." _And boozing it up at an Olympic-winning rate hasn't helped much, either, _I added silently.

"Well, we could easily fix that," he said, leaning in even closer. "The tiny nibbles we've been munching on don't exactly qualify as real food."

We both laughed. Ungh. I don't know what was cuter. His barely perceptible accent, or hearing it through his usage of American phraseology.

"No, I guess they don't," I acknowledged, then turned around, returning my attention to the photo I'd searched for all night long. I was relieved to be free of the swarming crowd for now, so I was surprised that my headache didn't seem to be receding. On the contrary, it seemed to be getting worse. Suddenly, I felt the room close in around me, suffocating as everything grew dimmer, until it all melted into pitch black nothingness.

* * *

_**Eric**_

You have a new text from Pamela Ravenscroft.

_Still planning on personally delivering those tix?_

I sent off a quick reply.

_I'll be there._

Her reply was even quicker.

_In that case..._

Leave it to Pam and her cryptic ways, I thought with mounting irritation, as I waited for her to complete her sentence. My answer came about 60 seconds later, with apicturefile of a flowing, barley pink strapless gown.

As I hurried back to the set, I couldn't help but wonder if Pam's new Barbie doll was a willing participant.

* * *

_**F/Stop Gallery, Friday, 7:25p.m.  
**_

I knew I was in trouble immediately.

Blinking rapidly, I attempted to clear the spell that she seemed to cast on me. For fuck's sake, Northman. You're the king of this town, and you can have your pick of its beauties.

I was already enthralled by her talents as an artist, but I was not prepared for her breathtaking beauty. This was certainly not a development I had anticipated. Even from my limited view of her back, she was a vision. She sparkled in her barely-blush hued dress, like one of those rare pink diamonds, surrounded by the black coal that attempts to hide it, hoarding the coveted beauty all for itself.

Her golden curls were piled loosely on top of her head, a few stray strands falling in the most enticing manner around the nape of her neck. Her back and arms positively glowed with the deep caramel of her sun-kissed skin, complimented perfectly by the gown's pale shade of pink.

So, I already knew how thoroughly fucked over I was, just looking at her back from a few feet away. But, holding her tiny body in my arms after she'd collapsed, staring at her full, upturned lips, even now, in her current state of unconsciousness, impossibly, oh-so-fucking-kissable ruby-red, I cursed every old Norse god whose name I could remember, as well as Pam, for putting me in this predicament.

I was not a one flavor kind of guy but, I already knew, without needing a psychic, that this little blonde piece of heaven would not be satisfied with just a piece of me.

Shit, Northman, what the hell is wrong with you? She's passed out in your arms, and this it the time you pick to psycho-analyze your love life?

Forcing myself to snap out of it, I bent down to check if she was breathing. Her breath was shallow, but definitely still there. I looked up at her friend and told her to find Pam and also get a glass of water for when Sookie revived.

Within seconds, her eyes fluttered open. After her first moment of consciousness settled in, panic crossed her features as she realized where she was. I caressed her shoulder in a gesture meant to calm and reassure her.

"It's okay, Sookie," I whispered. "I've got you."

At this, she stilled. "We're in Pam's office. Amelia should be back shortly with some water for you. Go ahead and rest your eyes, if you need to."

She shook her head slightly, her sky-blue eyes remaining locked with mine.

"We really do need to get some serious food in you," I said, brushing a lock a hair from her face. I could feel her tense at my touch, and that gorgeous shade of pink returned to her cheeks. "So, what are you in the mood for?"

The pink turned to deep magenta. I suddenly understood why this was Pam's favorite color.

First, I suggested a burger joint, and she fucking wrinkled her nose! It was obviously not a conscious gesture, but that made it all the more adorably sexy. Shit. Fuck. Shit. I continued, willing my cock to stand down. "How about El Tepayac? They have killer guacamole." Another too-freaking-cute nose wrinkle.

I looked up as I heard the door open, seeing Pam walk in with Amelia close behind. Ignoring the mischievous smirks on their faces, I returned my attention to Sookie.

"Okay, well, there's a 24 hour breakfast place not too far away ..." This brought on a sparkle of excitement into her widening sky blue eyes. I wondered, was it possible that she might have an unquenchable sweet tooth to match mine?

"Okay," she agreed with feigned resignation.

"You spoke the magic words," Amelia said with a snort, handing me the glass of water that she had brought for her friend. "This girl would eat breakfast for every meal of the day if she could."

I helped her sit up, offering her the glass. As she put it to those perfect lips, I continued. "In that case, you'll love it. They specialize in crepes. They have savory ones as well, but they serve the entire menu all day long."

"That sounds good," she murmured after gulping down about half the water.

I rose to my feet, still holding her in my arms.

"Alright, let's go then," I whispered down to her, and gently set her down on her own two feet.

After Pam left the gallery in the capable hands of her assistant, Felicia, and a short twenty minute drive (well, short by L.A. standards), the four of us filed into the restaurant, and stood at the side of the counter, examining the menu.

"Know what you want, Pammy?" I chuckled at her eye roll. I loved how much she hated that particular nickname.

"Don't I always?" Pam answered with a smug smirk. "What about you?"

"Hmm..." I muttered, finger tapping on my lips. "I think I'll go with the Nutella crepes."

A gasp. Then a shudder. I looked over to my side, to see Sookie's head snap in my direction, eyes widening as she bit down on her lower lip and gripped my shoulder, fingers digging into my skin. Did she even know how fucking hot she was?

"Um … did you say … Nutella?" She was practically gnawing on her bottom lip now.

"Oh, I sure did," I answered with a wink.

A loud snort snapped us both our of our lusty haze. "Oh, now you've really done it."

"Hush up, Amelia," she hissed, and then turned her face up to me with a sheepish grin. "Well, Ami just introduced me to these Nutellatinis earlier, and well ... I guess you could say it was the best chocolate experience of my life."

She was now staring adorably at the ground, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. I couldn't resist. I leaned in close and whispered into her ear. "So, are you ready for round two?"

I felt her body heat beside me. I continued. "You _seriously_ have to try these, Sookie. Caramelized bananas, toasted pecans, smothered in creamy Nutella goodness. You know, they don't call it spreadable joy for nothing." She actually swayed, no, teetered next to me. So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I leaned in even closer, my lips brushing her cheek, and breathed into her skin. "Want some?"

She jumped back as if scorched, her blush deepening. " I – um ..." she stammered. "Uh, yeah. That sounds good."

"What sounds good, Sookie?" I whispered seductively, reaching out to pull her back to me.

She swatted my hand away. "Easy boy. The Nutella crepes," she said, rolling her eyes. "Geesh, I guess it doesn't take much acting chops for you to get into that Leif character, huh?"

She looped arms with Amelia and Pam as they headed towards a booth, leaving me behind to place the order.

* * *

_**The O Hotel, Saturday, 2a.m. **_

I was just about to give up and turn around, after knocking on the door for a third time, when I heard the locks begin to rattle. After another long, comedically awkward moment, the door finally swung open, to reveal a just-showered Sookie.

Shit. I couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or to pounce on her. She was wearing what she apparently used as pajamas, while towel drying her hair with her free hand. Her outfit consisted of tight, white boy shorts with a lace trim that only reached the very top of her thigh, I all but licked my lips imagining how they must hug her backside, barely skimming where the round curves met her legs.

But, the best part of her outfit, was her Team Vamp T-shirt. Not only did it cling to her still-damp body in all the right places, it was also an undeniable testament to how big a fan of my show she really was . Just like her visibly hardening nipples, she wore it like a flag, making it pretty damn difficult for her to deny my effect on her.

After catching my breath, and talking down my eager cock, I was able to find my voice.

"I'm glad to see you're such a big fan of the show," I said. "But, I am disappointed you don't bat for Team Human."

She rewarded me with that adorable snort, and an eye roll. "Is there a reason for this late night visit, Mr. Northman?"

"C'mon, I thought I made it clear that I prefer Eric."

"Okay, fine, _Eric," _she replied, focusing on finishing up drying her hair. "What brings you by at this late—I mean, early—hour of the morning?"

I swallowed hard, attempting to remember the original excuse for my visit. "Oh, well, you so distracted me earlier I had forgotten to give you these." I produced the tickets to tomorrow's, or rather, tonight's, _Fiends_ premiere and handed them over to her.

She accepted them with an excited gleam in her eye that did not escape my notice. Nor did the flush in her face and her quickened breath at the sparks that ignited where our hands brushed against each other's.

"Uh, thanks," she murmured, snatching her hand away and holding it close to her ample chest. "You didn't have to personally deliver them, but I appreciate it."

I stood there, a shit-eating grin plastered across my entire face, literally from ear to fucking ear. It only slightly faded when she shut the door in my face.

* * *

_A/N: So... what did you think? Please feed me by pressing the little green button and reviewing :-)_

_BTW - I have been a bit down because my cowboy fic hasn't gotten as much love as I had hoped. So, if you have time, please consider putting it on your reading list. It's called Viking, Texas Ranger, and you can access it on my profile.*bats lashes*_

_Also, I'll be posting a link to Sookie's outfit on my profile very soon. A huge thanks to fascinatingnewthing for helping me with Sookie's shopping ;p_

_Hope you all have a safe and happy holiday season :-)_


	6. Good Vibrations

_A/N: Wow! I am just floored by all the review love! I'm so flattered at the response. So... here's a little belated Hannukkah/ early Christmas gift from me to you. _

_Nutella kisses to nycsnowbird for being such a patient and amazing beta. Any mistakes remaining are purely mine ;p_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine. _

_

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_

**CHAPTER 5: Good Vibrations**

A good photograph is knowing where to stand

~Ansel Adams

* * *

_**Sookie**_

My eyes snapped open at the sound of three quick, muffled knocks.

No. That couldn't possibly be my door. It sounded so far away. Plus, who the hell would be at my door at this ungodly hour? I turned over on my side, covering my head with a pillow, only to groan at the second and third set of knocks, each louder than the last. I raised my head, eyes shooting over to the nightstand, shocked to see that the red letters on the clock read ten o'clock. How could it possibly be that late, I wondered, as I rose to a sitting position. Rising to my feet did not help the massive headache that I had woken up with. I stumbled over to the door, grumbling to my visitor that I would be right there.

But as I neared the door, I started wondering, who could be at my door? The only people who knew where I was staying were Pamela, who I was fairly sure was still snuggled in bed, and Amelia. I was going to be meeting with Ami later, but that wouldn't be for hours. I froze right as I was reaching the door, realizing there was only one other person who knew I was here. EN. But, no, he'd already used up his excuses for a visit.

"Who is it?" I asked, annoyed.

"Room service, Ma'am."

"I didn't order any room service," I protested, looking through the peephole. Standing there, I saw a young, dark haired, lanky guy with what looked to be an official name tag, which said Barry.

"Your _are _Miss Stackhouse?" he asked after flipping open a leather order pad, looking over what I could only assume was the receipt.

"Yes."

"Well, the order has your room number and your name, so it is definitely for you."

I shrugged my shoulders, unlatching the lock. He seemed harmless enough.

As soon as I opened the door, he nodded at me in silent greeting and wheeled the cart in.

"You can just leave the cart right outside your room, Ma'am," he said as he headed back toward the door. "It will be collected from there."

"Oh, wait!" I practically ran after him to catch him before he left. "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh, it's been taken care of."

_Taken care of?_ He must have seen the horrified, puzzled look on my face. Either that, or he could read minds.

"It was put on your room tab."

"Oh, of course." I waived my hand as if dismissing my own silliness. "Hang on, though, at least let me get you a tip."

"Also already taken care of," he said over his shoulder before hurrying out, shutting the door softly behind him.

The delicious aroma of coffee permeated the room. I poured myself a cup and sipped at the heavenly elixir as I examined the items on the tray. It was a pretty sweet spread—an assortment of fresh fruit, croissants with those cute mini jam bottles, eggs, sausage, and even a stack of fluffy pancakes. Well, whoever ordered this, either thought I was a total pig, or wasn't sure what I'd like, so they ordered everything.

I was just about to dig in, when I noticed a fancy gift box on the cart. It was poshly wrapped in a big red bow. I set my coffee down and reached for the box.

The first thing I found inside was a card, and inscribed on the heavy vellum cardstock, the most beautiful letterforms I'd ever seen. It was like calligraphy. It simply read: _I do hope to recruit you to my team very soon._ It was signed with a large, swirling "E".

_Oh, brother._ Even his signature was full of itself.

Tossing the card aside on the bed, I picked up the shirt that was neatly folded and tucked into the box. I was happy that I didn't have any coffee in my mouth at that moment, because I surely would have sprayed it all over the Team Human t-shirt that I was now holding in my hands. I was about to stuff the shirt back in the box, when I realized there was something else in there. Moving aside the layered tissue paper, I was just a little ashamed, but probably not as much as I should be, at the drool that began to form in my mouth as I discovered one big ass jar of Nutella sitting there. I mean, this thing was industrial size. And it was calling my name, practically sparkling up at me. There was also a cute little silver spoon included.

Geesh. This guy sure was going for broke. I doubted he was used to hearing no, or getting many doors slammed in his face, but I wondered if he was usually this relentless in his pursuit of his prey.

Resisting the urge to gorge on the stuff before breakfast, I put it aside. I also put the shirt back in the box and threw it in the general direction of the card, before digging in to my breakfast. As much as I was looking forward to going to the premiere tonight with Amelia, I somehow knew that I would need all the strength I could get to stave off the advances of Mr. Hollywood.

* * *

Amelia was at my door at one o'clock sharp, just like we had agreed on. We were going to hang out for the rest of the day and then get ready together. As soon as I opened the door, she rushed in to inspect my new digs, with barely so much as a hello. To be fair, she did grace me with a quick peck to the cheek before she torpedoed into the suite, like a damn Tasmanian devil.

"Well, dayumn, girl," she voiced in approval, stretching out on the sofa after a few dizzying spins around the room. "This _is_ pretty sweet!"

I nodded my agreement, settling myself on the adjacent armchair.

Amelia didn't do sitting still very well. She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against them as her mind raced to check off tasks still to attack on her mental to-do list. She grinned.

The moment she latched onto one was hard to miss; she sat up suddenly, practically jumping into the air with nervous energy.

"So … where are we going shopping to get you a dress for the big party?"

Now it was my turn to cross my arms. "I already _have_ a dress, Amelia." I added an eye roll for good measure.

"Oh, really?" she snorted. "Let's see it then."

"Fine," I shot up to my feet and tossed my hair back melodramatically, not even waiting to see if she followed.

She was right on my heels.

As I rushed to the closet to retrieve my suitcase, I heard Amelia's low whistle as she took in the posh bedroom. _Shit. _I had totally flaked out on hanging up the dress when I arrived, and I just knew that the wrinkled state it must be in would not help my case, whatsoever.

I rushed over to the bed, irritated, but not in the least surprised to find Amelia lounging on it. I tossed my suitcase on the bed roughly, huffing with annoyance as I leaned over to unzip it.

I was rummaging through the clothes, my frustration rising with my inability to locate the only purple item in my bag. Well, lavender to be exact, but still. Finally, I spotted what I was looking for and pulled out the dress, holding it up with pride; it was one of my all time favorites.

It was actually the only thing my ex-boyfriend had given me that I'd really liked, and kept. It was a loose and flowing floor length gown, with spaghetti straps that crisscrossed in the back.

Amelia snorted with derision. At first I thought the look on her face was disgust, but then I grew livid, realizing that it was more like pity.

"Oh. My. God. Sookie! What _is_ that hideous thing?" She covered her eyes, then peeked through the fingers in mock horror. "It looks like a prom reject!"

I sunk onto the bed, fighting to contain the tears that threatened to spill. God, I hate how I tear up whenever I'm hurt or angry: it always feels like I've somehow already lost.

Suddenly, a faint buzzing noise broke through the tense silence. Amelia's brow raised in question for just a split second, before we both registered what that sound had to be. Our eyes shot to the suitcase in unison, growing wide with shock (mine) and understanding (ours). I was hot with the deep, crimson of abject embarrassment, while Amelia melted into fits of giggles.

_Damn it all._ It was my vibrator. I knew I shouldn't have packed it with the batteries. I guess there's good reason why they always sell batteries separately. I wrenched the suitcase open and frantically tossed around its contents, trying to locate it as quickly as possible. To my sheer horror, as I shifted items in the suitcase, the noise only grew louder, inciting more raucous laughter from my friend.

I finally found it and switched it off. In the ensuing blissful silence, I was still catching my breath, and glared at Amelia stifling her laughter.

Wiping her teary eyes, she looked at me with a gleeful smirk. "Oh, Sook, I'm so glad you came prepared. At least in that department."

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought I might very well be risking popping them out of my sockets. I was just about to stuff the vibrator back under a few layers of clothes, when Amelia somehow realized my ploy and pounced on me, quicker than a cat in heat, forcing my hand aside to reveal the object of my mortification. My mouth hung down in shock before I could get myself to close it shut.

"C'mon, Sook, let's see whatcha got there," she said with a devious wink.

"God, Amelia. Don't you have your own?" I huffed.

"Oh, I do," she waggled her brows. "But I want to see what the girls in the Big Easy like to play with."

I gave into a giggle, and let down my defenses. If she was set on torturing me, there was nothing I could really do to stop her.

"What in the hell is that?" she shrank back, horrified. "Sookie, how long have you been double clicking the mouse with that nasty thing? It looks like it's been through every military engagement in U.S. history!"

"Um … double click the mouse?"

"You know ... digging a trench? Fanning the fur? Rubbing one out?"

The blush that heated my cheeks now was fueled by rage. I tossed the vibrator in my suitcase, no longer feeling the need to hide it, and zipped it closed. "It works. Why fix it if it ain't broke?"

"Oh, trust me sweetie. You're living in the dark ages. You don't know what you're missing."

I just rolled my eyes again.

"Hey, I know the perfect place to go shopping!" Amelia exclaimed, jumping off the bed. "You'll love it."

* * *

"Okay, we still have a good couple of hours to kill," Amelia said as she closed the car door and settled into the driver's seat beside me. She turned her full attention on me now, her eyes sparkling with a devilish glint that made me swallow hard. "And I know just the place!"

Her mischievous smirk scared me only a fraction less than the speed she soon picked up on the freeway. I wondered if this crazy driving was a West Coast thing, or just the people I had happened to be driving with, as I clutched the door handle.

"Oh?" I managed; I wasn't sure if I really wanted the details.

She flashed her eyes on me briefly before returning her attention to the road. "Yeah, it's actually on our way back to the hotel."

I leaned back and closed my eyes, willing myself to relax. She hadn't let me down yet. We'd gone to this vintage clothes shop that carried an impressive selection of Betsy Johnson dresses, which Amelia declared would be perfect for me. I found a beautiful white and red polka dot pattern dress with a sweetheart neckline that was accented with a red silk band, that tied in a cute little bow at the center. Amelia had also found a gorgeous little black number for herself.

My eyes flew open when Amelia yanked the car abruptly into a parking spot. She linked our arms together as we walked towards the store, and as much as I was touched by the affectionate gesture, I couldn't help but wonder if it was only to try to prevent me from bolting, if necessary. I guess I couldn't blame her after last night.

She was damn right to take this precaution, because I froze as soon as I could see the name of the store we were entering. _The Pleasure Chest. _I whipped my head around, staring down Amelia with narrowing eyes.

She merely tightened her grip on my arm and met my angry glare with the sweetest smile. "Oh, c'mon Sook. This'll be fun."

"Hey, y'all, how you doin'?" the warm, sunshine voice reached us before we could spot the short and curvy blonde that had greeted us. The slight Texas twang caught me off guard, almost as much as the strange mixture of bouncy energy and laid back aloofness.

I followed Amelia's lead, giving her a curt nod as we moved past her.

"Well, I'm Hillari. You girls give me a holler if you need anything," she said with a practiced smile and a mischievous wink.

"Thanks, Hillari," Amelia purred with a flirtatious smile. "We'll be sure to do that."

_Well, that was interesting._ I tried to keep my jaw from dragging on the floor as we moved deeper into the store. Did Ami swing both ways? I knew we both had a healthy appreciation for beauty, be it male of female, but I would personally never act on such a thing. Not that I was judging—it was just my own personal preference.

I was examining the various shapes and sizes of sex toys on the wall display, my head tilted quizzically as I tried to figure out how some of these were supposed to fit into my girly bits, when I felt Amelia's gaze on me.

"So," she whispered into my hair. "Are you ever going to spill what EN whispered to you last night while I was taking your picture?"

I froze. "Oh, it was nothing, really."

"Nothing, huh?" she teased with a skeptical brow and an amused smirk.

She waited for more details, but when it became apparent that they weren't forthcoming any time soon, she pressed further. "C'mon, Sook, he's obviously ten shades of smitten with you. Lovely shades of pink, that is."

My cheeks heated to a four alarm blush. "Come on, Amelia. Get real. He's Eric fucking Northman!"

"So? Sookie, you couldn't have possibly _not_ noticed how into you he was?"

I hid behind my deepening blush. It was good to know it wasn't all in my head, but still. "Okay, fine, Amelia. Maybe you're right." I affirmed. "But that still doesn't make him any less of a man whore."

Amelia snorted. "And what's so wrong about that?"

I glared at her corrosively. "I'm not interested in another ride on that train." She knew very well the heartache that I had only recently gone through.

"Sweetie, you need to get out there and have a little fun," she said, her expression softening and no longer predatory. "Besides, are you sure you're not stereotyping? Just because he's a famous actor, and hella hot, doesn't necessarily mean he's a man whore."

We stared at each other for a moment, then broke into fits of giggles.

"Oh, well," she conceded, now guffawing. "You're probably right. Playing Leif isn't that much of a stretch for him."

She laced her fingers through mine and led me through the store. "C'mon, Sook, we've gotta bring you into the 21st century. Really, they have made so many advances."

I rolled my eyes, smiling humorlessly.

Amelia was busy demonstrating the wonders of remote controlled clitoral stimulation when I felt a soft tap on my shoulder.

"Hello ladies," the sunshine voice came from behind me. "Finding everything okay?"

Amelia turned to her, smiling, as if there was nothing odd about having a chit chat while there was a vibrator in your hand. "We are so far, Hillari. But tell me, do you carry the Toibocks line at your store?"

Hillari's tongue ring clinked against her teeth as she grinned conspiratorially at Amelia, curiosity and desire twinkling in her eyes. "Of course. Follow me."

She led us to another display, and showed us the item Amelia had asked for. It was a cleverly designed wooden box which looked like it could be a jewelry box, but it had a hidden lock mechanism that revealed a secret compartment. For your "toys". Well, hardy har har.

I snickered, again embarrassed, distress pulling at my lips. I was brought out of my reverie by the sound of Amelia's sweet voice, telling the girl that her friend Sookie really did need one of those.

I was getting ready to really let Amelia have it, when she spun around to face me with her trilling laughter. She clucked her tongue at me, mock-lecturing me. "Now, now, Sookie, you wouldn't want to be caught in the same ... awkward situation with another visitor, do you?"

I opened and closed my mouth several times, gaping like a fish, unable to come up with a reply I wanted to utter out loud. Finally, I just sighed heavily in defeat and tried to change the subject. "Fine. Let's just get it and go already."

"Oh, Sookie, we _can't_ go yet." Amelia's tone brooked no argument. She was either thoroughly enjoying my discomfort or pushing through my embarrassment—maybe both—but there was no deterring her.

I just stared reproachfully, crossing my arms, waiting for her to get over herself and continue.

"We still have to get you a shiny new toy to put in that box!"

I have to hand it to her. This salesgirl had impeccable timing. She reached Amelia's side right as she was finishing her triumphant little statement. Just perfect.

I followed them numbly, wondering how long I would have to withstand the torture. I swallowed hard, suffocating on my embarrassment that heated my cheeks, ears and even my throat as I realized that this was quite possibly the most painful walk of shame I'd ever had to endure in my life. Not that I'd had that many … but this one was definitely going in the vault.

Actually, it was even worse ... because I wasn't even getting any sex out of all this hoopla, and it was really much more like a parade of shame, considering our pace.

An agonizing half an hour later, after enduring several rounds of embarrassing questions as well as a quick review of today's latest vibrator technology, from g-spot stimulators, to waterproof and hands-free toys, I made my decision and we made our way to the register.

I was beyond relieved to finally be able to drag Amelia out of there. We headed back to the hotel, with the 'shiny new toy' tucked safely and discreetly in my Toibocks.

Well, I guess it was only fitting, since I was staying at the O hotel.

* * *

_A/N: * giggles * So … What's your most embarrassing, ahem, toy incident? Press that little green button and tell me all about it. Oh, and of course also tell me what you thought of this chapter :)_

_I know you all want to get to the premiere – but just be patient. We'll get there next chapter! Sookie had to get a proper dress!_

_Btw – there's a link for the dress on my profile page._

_Happy holidays everyone!!!_


	7. Take Two

_A/N: And… we're back __ Hope everyone had enjoyed the holidays. So, I took a bit of a hiatus, I admit it – I got all inspired with the holidays and wrote a Christmas Carol parody for the NoN contest. If you're interested, or just want to show me how much you luuuurve and adore me, the link is on my profile ;D_

_Before we return to our regularly scheduled program though, I hope you'll bear with me for a couple of pimptastic announcements:_

_First, a word about the Naughty or Nice contest. I think this contest may have been a bit overlooked among all the other ones, and the craziness of the holiday season in general __ They have extended the deadline to January 17, so I hope you will all consider entering. If not, please at least go and r&r the entries. You can check them out here:_

_http://www . Fanfiction . net/community/Naughty_or_Nice_One-shot_Contest/76327/99/0/1/_

_And secondly, I wanted to mention a cause that's very dear to my heart. The Vampire Author Auction raises much needed funds for Stacie Holeman (truelovepooh on LJ and in fandom). Stacie has Breast and Ovarian Cancer and no medical insurance. __ A few of your favorite SVM authors are participating, including txone, Nyah, youbettago, Kyss, TexanLady and many more. If your favorite author isn't participating, they might if you just ask them. Show your support for this great cause and you favorite authors by bidding! _

_You can find more information here:_

_http://supportstacie__ . com/_

_

* * *

  
_

**CHAPTER 6: TAKE TWO**

Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.

~Pablo Picasso

* * *

_**Sookie**_

I could practically hear the happy-go-lucky melody of _Movin' On Up_ in my head as we sat in the plush leather seats of the limo, on our way to Paramount Pictures Studio.

I felt like I had officially arrived at Hollywood. And the bubbly we were downing as if it was water as we tried to relax in the back seat only heightened Amelia's excited giggles, and, in turn, mine.

I had heard that it took forever to get anywhere in—or near—L.A., but I was still shocked that it had already been half an hour, and we were still a long way off from our destination. Of course, it probably seemed longer because of all the built-up anticipation. I mean, I may have been able to pretend with Gran that the highlight of my trip to L.A. would be the opening of my own show, but really, _this_ is what I'd been waiting for the entire weekend. They were going to be showing the two hour season premiere on the actual soundstage of the Fiends set, and we would be watching it while sitting next to EN, as well as the other actors, of course. This was pretty much a fangirl fantasy come true.

Attempting to calm my own nerves, I poured myself another glass of champagne and watched Amelia. She seemed content, sipping the bubbly and texting ridiculously silly updates to her twitter account. The girl seemed to have a bottomless tolerance for alcohol. There was one empty bottle tossed at her feet, and we were already more than halfway through the bottle we were presently working on. While I drank from a fluted glass, she chugged the stuff straight from the bottle. Since I was only on my third glass, I knew that she was definitely outpacing me. I wasn't even sure how she was still typing coherent sentences into her iPhone.

When the car finally pulled to a stop, we sat for a surreal moment, like the heavy, still silence of the calm before the storm. We examined each other closely, fixing up stray hairs and adjusting garments and touching up lip gloss. Amelia surprised me when she pulled me to her abruptly, and raised her iPod.

"Say Fiends," she sang, right before the flash of her camera went off.

"Amelia! What the—"

"Oh, relax, Sookie," she admonished. "You're gonna want some snapshots from tonight. Besides, you know as soon as we open this door there'll be lots more flashing lights."

I rolled my eyes, biting back a retort because she did have a point, and we both knew it.

She stashed her phone and gave me one more questioning look over her shoulder. We gave each other a quick nod, and then Amelia turned to the door and opened it.

Our nerve-induced giggles had reached epic proportions by the time we entered the theater. I couldn't even remember what we were laughing at anymore, but we both seemed incapable of doing anything more coherent or appropriate. It just seemed so surreal to be here at the Fiends set, surrounded by all the pretty, famous faces. It was kind of like standing in front of the Eiffel tower after years of only seeing it in postcards. Thankfully, we were at least able to resist pointing and staring like the awe-struck tourists that we so obviously were.

Amelia stopped abruptly in front of me, and I stumbled into her. As soon as I half-recovered my balance, I caught a glimpse of what had made her stop in her tracks. _Damn_. I let a long breath out, steadying my rocking body. It should be illegal to be that gorgeous.

EN smiled at me as his eyes caught mine from across the room, and I won't lie—I melted more than a little. Dear Lord, how can a man be so damn perfect? Well, physically perfect anyways.

His eyes never left mine, staring at me with what I could only assume was his best panty-incinerating stare—with a smirk to match—even while he continued talking to and laughing with the small group of people who surrounded him.

He looked like he should grace the cover of a romance novel. Without the skank factor most of those male models had. You know, like that male gigolo-looking guy in those butter substitute commercials? That caused me to erupt into another fit of giggles. _Like butta indeed. _

He was just—Guh. Squared. No, scratch that. Quadrupled. Well, I wasn't really good at math, but you get the picture.

He had his hair pulled back in those hot Viking braids like Bjorn sometimes had on the show, but there were some loose wisps hanging around his face, no doubt from his nervous habit of constantly running his hands through his hair. It seemed to be the only human crack in his god-like perfection.

It looked like he had foregone his favorite gray suit tonight in favor of a black velvet one. The material seemed to cling to his broad shoulders and muscled physique even more than any other material I'd yet seen him wear. _Yum._

Yes, EN was perfect in every way. The only problem was, he was all too aware of just how perfect he was.

I was startled out of my thoughts when I felt Amelia's arm slowly slip out of mine. When I looked to my side, I saw that she was greeting Pam with an extra friendly hug. After some minimal small talk, they slinked away with a thinly-veiled excuse.

I was still sputtering and muttering in disbelief when I looked around me, only to see EN heading my way. I barely had a chance to take a deep breath and pull myself together before he reached me.

"I see you haven't seen the light yet," he said, lips tugging into a smirk.

"Pardon?"

"Well, as much as I would have liked to see you wear my gift, I must admit, you do look delicious tonight."

"Oh," I mumbled, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

His smirk widened into a full out grin. Leaning in and brushing his lips against my cheek, he purred, "Wearing my favorite color again, I see."

I pulled back sharply, fumbling to hide the tremors his hot breath and words inflicted on me. I was focusing on minimizing the hot flush to my cheeks so I didn't notice the man who had approached us.

"Northman," the proximity of his nasal voice, tempered with a familiar Southern twang, startled me. "Are you going to introduce this sweet little morsel to the rest of us?" He finally came into view from behind Eric's impossibly broad shoulders, fixing his dark eyes on me with the words.

I could feel the expanding heat in my face radiating all the way to my ears.

William Compton, the actor who played vampire Bill on the show, seemed to smile wider as our eyes met. He leaned into Eric, patting his shoulder jovially, but kept his hungry gaze locked on me. "You didn't actually think you could keep her all to yourself, did you?"

Eric's shoulder noticeably stiffened. He glanced at Bill's hand with a mixture of annoyance and disdain and shrugged it off his shoulder. Bill's satisfied smirk only widened at Eric's reaction before Bill turned to me and reached for my hand, smiling sweetly.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance, yet, miss …." he inquired with somewhat exaggerated old-world fashion, brushing his lips against my hand while keeping his eyes trained on me.

I was searing alive in a mix of embarrassment and shyness, my lungs laboring heavily. "Oh, it's Sookie," I stammered, retrieving my hand. "Sookie Stackhouse."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stackhouse."

"Oh, please. Call me Sookie."

"If you insist, _Sookie_," he replied, his eyes eating me up.

"Now that you're curiosity has been satiated," Eric cut in with a clipped tone. "Is there anything else we can do for you, _Compton_?"

Bill was about to reply, when Eric cut him off. "Oh, good. We were just about to take our seats."

The satisfied smile on Eric's lips, dressed up—though not very convincingly—as a polite one, made me think that Bill was probably not going to be sitting anywhere near us for the screening.

Then, EN actually placed his hand on my lower back as he led me toward our seats! I tried not to gasp too loudly at the electrical current that felt like his palm was imprinting my back, sending the most delicious shivers up and down my spine. I knew he had large hands (in fact, I will admit, it was the topic of many a fangirl-gush, and maybe a tad bit of an obsession), but feeling how much of my skin he was able to cover with his palm made my eyes widen so much that I began to worry they might actually pop right out of their sockets.

I was so focused on slowing my breathing to a normal pace that I didn't even notice we had gotten to our seats until I suddenly felt a tug on my hand. I turned my head just as I felt my body give, and suddenly found myself plopped in a chair, my face a mere inches away from EN.

Well, these oh-shit moments were just racking up, weren't they?

Breath gradually returned to me when only a moment later, the lights began to dim. I was never so relieved to hear the sound of HBO snow.

_**Eric**_

It took me about twenty minutes to extricate myself from the annoying questions of the cloying crowd after the screening was over. _Almost a personal record_, I mused, as I walked out to the courtyard, which had been transformed into a vampire watering hole. The space was dotted with gazebos, half of them draped in red velvet, the other strung with protective plastic garlic.

I picked my way through the crowd, scanning for her blonde head as I nodded and smiled politely at the guests, hurrying past them. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, I made my way to the bar, hoping some alcohol would help me to calm the fuck down. And maybe even see straight. Really, I should be alarmed and disgusted at my pubescent-like giddy anticipation to be near her again, but—I'd rather just be near her again.

Heineken in hand, I took a couple of long swigs and turned to face the throngs again. I smiled when I spotted the head of golden waves for which I had been searching. But my elation soon turned to disappointment, and then to pure unadulterated rage, when I discovered who was standing next to her.

Of course. Leave it to fucking Compton to weasel his way in at the slightest opening. He was so damn pathetic, it would be sad if it wasn't so irritating.

I could feel my hands grip the bottle in my hands dangerously tighter and the tension stiffening my muscles as I watched Compton lay it on thick with his lame-ass simpering smile. Fuck, it just made me want to gag, and then kick his ass some more, when I saw him run his hands through his man-bangs in feign absentminded sexiness. What a douche. It was so glaringly obvious that he knew exactly what impact that had on the ladies. Too bad it didn't decimate panties anywhere close to the rate they melted for me when I ran _my_ hands through my own long, blond hair. Sorry Billy boy, but ladies are suckers for long hair.

What the _fuck_? I was rudely slapped from my thoughts, or rather, from patting myself on the back, by the sight of her. She was giggling and darting her eyes around like a damned school girl as Compton leaned in closer to her, his lips forming words from behind that idiotic smile.

Was she actually falling for his pseudo Southern rake routine? Unbefuckinlievable. And why the hell did I actually give a crap?

I was just about to head toward them, contemplating what would feel most satisfying—the crunch of his skin tearing under my fists, or hearing his grunts and moans when I kicked his ass—when I felt soft, cool hands snake around my waist.

Two sets of arms crossed around my back, hands settling on each side of my waist. I glanced around to see two of my favorite red-heads standing beside me—Sophie-Anne Leclerq and Jessica Hamby.

Aside from their coloring—red hair and pale creamy skin—these two were as different as night and day. Sophie-Anne, who played Bjorn's love interest for a few episodes this season—a kinky dominatrix—was all curves and sex. Jessica, on the other hand, who had a guest spot as one of Leif's conquests, was beautiful in an awkward but horny schoolgirl/band-geek kind of way—with her lanky body and wide gray moon-eyes. They were both hot as hell.

"Ladies," I said with an appreciative, leisurely glance at each of them.

They returned my greeting in eager do-me unison, both reaching for handfuls of my chest with their free hands.

This was exactly what I needed. A good fuck—or two—would fix my little blonde problem. I silently thanked the god of horny co-stars finally able to snap myself out of this ridiculous spell this chick had somehow cast on me. It was a well known law of physics—no two objects can inhabit the same space at the same time. And I was an expert in physics.

"Enjoying the show, _Viking_?" Sophie-Anne purred at my side with a significant wink.

I was more than happy to play along when she began to caress my ass, while Jessica fit herself under my arm, nuzzling into me.

"Indeed," I breathed into her ear as I leaned in closer, giving Jessica's ass a quick squeeze.

The girls nestled themselves into me, tracing my chest and back as they giggled coyly, growing more brazen with the movements of their hands.

After a moment, I took another discreet peek at Sookie.

She was still standing at the exact same spot and Compton was still at her side, but they had been joined by Pamela and Amelia as well. Sookie looked like she was focusing on the girls, which, I must admit, came as a relief. But, just when I was about to look away, I noticed Compton had spotted me. In fact, his eyes were boring into me.

As soon as he caught my attention, he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Her response was immediate, and it both turned me on and irritated the hell out of me at the same time. Her lips turned up into a shy smile and she cast her eyes down, her blush deepening into that shade of crimson that looked so goddamned hot on her.

When Compton lifted his head again and met my eyes, one corner of his mouth was turned into a crooked smirk. _Motherfucker_.

Well,I guess she really was Team Vamp—all the way. _Fuck it then. _

She might be hot, in a Southern Belle, adorable and sweet kind of way, but if she wasn't interested, there were plenty of other takers._ Eager and ready at that, _I told myself, returning my attention to the girls beside me. I pulled both girls closer to me, relishing the feel of their soft bodies against mine.

"Come on big boy," Jessica whispered, her breath hot against my skin. "Let's go somewhere a little more comfortable." She looked up at me through long lashes, her mouth turning up in a devious smirk as she gave me a wink.

I chuckled, which only seemed to encourage their groping hands.

I briefly contemplated warning Sookie, or at least Amelia, that she was better off staying far away from Bill, but I quickly pushed the thought away. She was a big girl—and I wasn't a fucking babysitter.

Slinging my arms around each girl, I turned and led the three of us toward the back, where I knew my limo would be waiting. "My thoughts exactly."

_**Sookie**_

EN was surrounded by a crowd almost as soon as we got up after the screening. For a split second, I considered hanging back and waiting for him. But, the crowd around him only seemed to grow, and I realized it was going to keep him busy for a while.

I headed out to the courtyard, where they were holding the after-party. I was just considering whether to first get a drink or some food, when my eyes bugged out at the site of what looked like a dessert buffet, with the most mouth watering arrangement of cupcakes. Seeing all that butter cream goodness only a few feet away almost made my knees buckle.

I was startled out of my reverie by a voice at my back, low and smooth as molasses.

"Sookie," Vampire Bill said.

"Oh, um … William," I stammered.

"Please, I do insist you call me Bill."

I nodded in agreement. After a short but awkward silence, he offered to get me a drink and I consented, calling out after him to snag me a cupcake as well.

His flirting was shameless and incessant, but the booze and the sugar made the time go faster, as I waited for Amelia to reappear. I still couldn't believe she had abandoned me like this to fend for myself—I mean, doesn't that saying, 'bros before hos' apply to girls too? I giggled at that thought, and immediately regretted it, because I could tell by Bill's satisfied grin that he thought I was responding to his advances.

He took the opportunity to lean in a little closer, running a hand through his hair and fixing me with a smile that I guess was supposed to be charming, but really just gave me the willies. Gosh, they must either do a lot of edits, or a lot of takes, because he seemed to pull off this-I'm-sexy-without-trying-to-be-sexy thing much better on the screen.

"Well, Sookie," he purred, "I must say, now that I have gotten the opportunity to spend a little time with you, I can certainly see why Eric is so taken with you. Aside from your breathtaking beauty, you are just so charming and sweet."

I knew he was convinced that he was reeling me in with his own charm, but his old-world language and sweet gentleman demeanor was so overdone, whether on purpose or not, that I couldn't help but burst into fits of giggles. At least I could feel the blush return to my cheeks, so it didn't totally look like I was laughing at him.

"Oh, I don't know about that," I demurred, glancing around frantically for Amelia, or, really, for _any_ other lifeline to grasp onto.

My luck seemed to be turning, because she emerged from the crowd, Pam on her arm, before Bill had the chance to utter another word.

Time seemed to drag on and on, but I was happy to have Amelia and Pam to focus on, and as the alcohol worked its magic, I was feeling pretty relaxed. Bill was growing on me, but I couldn't be sure whether it was him, or the booze, or both.

My eyes started to wander around the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of EN. He must have made it out here by now, I thought. I would never have admitted it out loud, but I was kind of hoping, even expecting him to find me. He had been laying on the charm pretty thick all through the evening, even during the screening.

I was jarred from my thoughts when I felt Bill's breath, hot against my ear. "So," he whispered, "I am awfully curious. Are you Team Vamp or Team Human?"

I looked down at the ground with a sheepish grin, feeling the heat of my deepening blush spread across my cheeks.

When I looked up again, Bill was chuckling with a devious gleam in his eye, so I knew he wasn't exactly holding his breath for a reply.

Amelia began to regale us with one of her numerous anecdotes from her years of bartending, so I allowed my eyes to roam once again, while I nodded and laughed at all the appropriate spots.

When I finally caught site of EN, my smile all but disappeared. I spotted him nestled in between two red-headed ho's, who had draped themselves all over him, feeling him up and rubbing themselves all over him. I wasn't sure what was more disgusting—the way they were throwing themselves at him, or the fact that he didn't seem to really mind.

Then, I saw the taller, skinnier one whisper something between fluttering lashes, even giving him a wink. _Slut._ He looked like he actually responded with laughter, which only encouraged the girls even more.

What kind of a man actually likes that kind of woman?

_Manwhore_.

I looked away, swallowing hard against the taste of bile rising in my throat, and returned my attention to Amelia's story. As I struggled to pick up the rhythm of smiles and amused snorts, I berated myself for being such a stupid, naïve girl.

What had I expected? He is Eric fucking Northman, after all. Hell, he could have any woman he sets his eyes on, why be surprised that he had his eye on more than one, literally? I _so_ should have known that he was just playing his part, since I won the contest—being nice to me the only way he knew how. Hell, he probably _had_ to be nice to me. Now that the contest was done, so was whatever had been, or hadn't been, between us.

My laughter took on a bitter quality, realizing how stupid I was to ever think it was anything more than that. I could feel myself fading fast from the conversation. Knowing I wouldn't be able to keep up the pretense much longer, I spun around and walked away from the group.

"Hey! Sook! Where—" Amelia called out after me.

"I need a drink," I yelled over my shoulder, hoping they'd all get the hint and keep their distance.

_**Eric**_

As soon as we got in the back seat of my limo, they were all over me, just like I knew they would be.

Yes, this was exactly what I needed, I told myself as I grabbed a handful of red hair and pulled Jessica's face toward mine, our lips crashing against each other's with rough, almost bruising force. Her lips parted, inviting me in, but before taking her up on it, I pulled her lower lip into my mouth, sucking her in, tasting the sweet raspberry flavored lip gloss. I felt and heard her soft whimpers and moans spill into my mouth, while Sophie-Anne grew bold on my other side, slipping her hands under my shirt and pushing it up. Her mouth descended to my skin, tracing a path from my chest down to my stomach with her hot, talented tongue.

I groaned as Sophie-Anne began to rub her hands over my crotch, bucking up into her hand. I began to grind against her as we found each other's rhythm, my hips moving against her hand at a pace that matched the movement of my lips and tongue with Jessica's.

But all I could see was golden blonde waves and sky-blue eyes, tanned glowing skin and perfectly pouty lips. I growled deep in my throat. _What. The. Fuck. _

Luckily, the girls only increased their efforts double fold, thinking my growl was an indication of arousal, and not the irritation it really was.

I closed my eyes tighter, giving into it, into _her_. As one girl began to suck at my ear, making her way down my neck, and the other started unbuttoning my pants, I focused on the image of golden waves cascading around me, and imagined that the lips on my skin were Sookie's. When my phone began to buzz in my back pocket, indicating a text message, I ignored it, focusing instead on Sookie's talented hands wrapping around my cock.

When my phone went off again, Sophie-Anne rudely forced me out of my fantasy.

"You gonna get that, big boy, or shall I?" she whispered in what was meant to be a sexy purr, but it didn't have a trace of a Southern drawl, so I was forced to wake up from my dream.

Opening my eyes, I gave Jessica's ass a playful smack before removing my hand to reach for the phone. It buzzed with another text message just as I was grabbing it.

I flipped the phone open as the girls returned their attentions to my body. I was planning on just turning it off, but when I saw the three texts were from Pam, my curiosity was piqued.

_Where the F are you? She's LEAVING._

_Going, going …_

_And GONE. Just left out back to limo._

_Fuck_. I could feel myself growing limp in Sophie-Anne's hands, now that I could no longer pretend that it was a certain blonde in my lap, and not just two ho-bags.

_Screw it._ I didn't really understand what my deal was, or rather, my cock's deal, with this hot little Southern belle, but I sure as hell was going to find out. Hell, I'm Eric fucking Northman. She may take a little more convincing than most ladies, for some unfathomable reason, but I always did enjoy a challenge. It brought out the Viking in me.

Anyway, no one could resist the Northman offensive for very long.

Having made my decision, I shoved both of them away, answering their questioning looks and gaping mouths with an apologetic smirk and a wink. I lifted Jessica, setting her on Sophie-Anne's lap and out of my way, and exited the limo without so much as a backward glance.

I hurried along the line of limos, hoping to head her off before she reached her ride. The street was abandoned. I began to walk back toward the party, hoping that maybe I might still intercept them on their way out, when I froze at the sound of car window lowering. Pivoting on my heels, I was slammed with the sight of Sookie practically leaning out of the car, surveying the surroundings as if she was trying to take a mental picture, until her eyes landed on me.

Even from my distance a few feet away, I could see her shoulders slump ever so slightly before she squared them and raised her chin in a prideful slant. She met my eyes for the briefest of my moments and then shook her head. I barely had a chance to catch a glimpse of the disdain twisting her lips before she rolled up the window.

All I could do was stand there like a total fucking idiot, watching the car pull out and speed away.

* * *

_A/N: *__Exit stage right, ducking rotten tomatoes* Now before you get too upset, just keep in mind … this is just a tiny little speed bump, in a pretty long ride. This fic is going to be about 20-25 chapters when it's all said and done. __ Did ya notice the change in rating to M? There will be ESN, and, yes, even an HEA, eventually. But the road there will be twisty and windy… so buckle up and enjoy the ride kiddies :)_

_Oh, and reviews make the brothers Erikson talk to me (and maybe other things we all enjoy?), so please press the little green button and tell me what you thought._

_Nutella kisses to my amazing betas __**nycsnowbird**__ and __**youbettago**__. You girls rock my socks ;D Any mistakes remaining are purely my own ;p_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine. _


	8. The Fiend That Made Me Shutter

_A/N: I just want to remind you to support a great cause, and your favorite SVM authors by bidding on them in the Support Stacie Author Auction!Go to:** www . supportstacie . com** (just take out the spaces). Bidding ends **Monday, 9pm central time!**_

_BTW – one of my fuckawesome betas, youbettago, is offering an amazing collab with Kyss. You know it's gonna be dripping with yummy lemons! Please go and show your love to these incredibly talented authors here:**http://www . supportstacie . **_**com/phpBB3/viewtopic . php?f**_**=16&t=220**_

_A/N: Viking sized thanks to the bestest betas any girl could ask for—__** nycsnowbird**__ and __**youbettago**__. Any mistakes remaining are purely my own ;p_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine. _

_Oh, and to Amm—thank you for the giggle-snort face of a review, and for the holicious inspiration! *winks*_

_

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**CHAPTER 7: THE FIEND THAT MADE MY SHUTTER**

_A thing that you see in my pictures is that I was not afraid to fall in love _

~Annie Leibovitz

* * *

_**Sookie**_

It was Sunday, my favorite day.

I made up my mind about 5 minutes after waking that I wasn't going to let EN's man-whorish ways take that away from me. No sirree.

I'd always assumed that he was one of those typical Hollywood actor types, and that had never stopped me from swooning over his prettiness from a distance. After all, it was always the character of adorkably sweet Bjorn that did it for me. Well, to be perfectly honest, seeing both twins on screen at the same time was hotter than hell, and as much as Leif's slutty behavior made me cringe, he was just too beautiful _not_ to watch. He was the playboy we all loved to hate, but still secretly loved to watch.

Besides, I chided myself, was there really a hot-blooded man out there, in the real world, who would refuse the advances of beautiful women—diseases aside—hanging all over him? Not a non-fictional guy, that's for sure. That shit only existed in fairy tales. And those ho-workers of his, the two redheads who had what I hoped would be very short guest stints on the show, sure didn't believe in subtlety.

I shrugged it off, now more determined than ever to go back to being just a regular old fangirl. I could go back to my old existence with my head held high, and brag about the fact that I stood close enough to EN to see every perfect whisker of stubble on his porn-tastic jaw, and, to confirm that yes, his hands were even bigger in real life than they appeared on screen.

Hot diggity dayumn … this would be enough to fuel my fantasies for many years to come.

My eyes travelled over to the dresser of their own accord, where I had placed that toibocks Amelia had forced me to purchase from The Pleasure Chest. Was that just yesterday? It seemed like more than a lifetime ago. I entertained the idea of busting that bad boy out for a moment, but then thought better of it and shuffled off to the shower. There would be plenty of time to play with my new toy when I got back home.

* * *

I had just grabbed the last of my clothes from the closet but right as I was turning to take them to the bed, so I could fold them before packing them into my suitcase, I noticed the all-but forgotten box on the floor. I picked it up and carried everything over to the bed.

After packing the last of my clothes, I emptied the contents of the box beside it. I hesitated for a moment, pondering the card that EN had included with his 'care package', but then decided to stick it into the side pocket of my suitcase, telling myself that this might be worth a lot of money someday. I doubted I would ever be desperate enough to sell it, but it just seemed foolish and spiteful to throw it away.

Turning my attention to the shirt, I spread it out on the bed. I wrapped the fluffy robe around me more tightly, cocking my head to the right as I considered what I was about to do. While I usually wore my Team Vamp t-shirt on _Fiends_-day, it was kind of grungy from wearing it for pajamas all week.

Nodding to myself after committing to my decision, I zipped up the suitcase. Setting it down against the wall, I headed to the bathroom to change.

* * *

I was finishing up on blow-drying my hair, so I barely heard the phone when it rang.

"Mornin' sunshine." Pam's signature cool, bored voice purred into the phone.

I flopped down on the bed. "It's 1 o'clock, Pam."

"Well, if you're going to get all technical, Sookie." She quipped, not bothering to finish the thought. "So, anyway … are you all packed yet?"

"Uh … almost." I dragged out the words, unsure where she was going with this.

"That's what I was afraid of," she replied, though she didn't sound too broken up about it. "I was going to tell you may wish to hold off on that."

She paused, no doubt waiting for my exasperated request for clarification. But I wasn't biting. Frowning with growing trepidation, I wondered what exactly she was up to as I waited for her to continue.

She finally relented. "So, I'm calling because I need to move up our appointment tomorrow. Could we do lunch instead?"

I snorted at the classic Hollywood cliché, wondering if the air kiss would be a prerequisite to 'doing lunch'.

"That wasn't a joke, little one."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, Pam. Sure, we can _do lunch_." I replied, not even attempting to sop up the sarcasm that dripped from my words.

"Okay, great. Well, for convenience's sake, we can just meet at the restaurant in your hotel," she said. "Oh, and Sook? One more thing."

I waited in silence, bracing myself.

"I might have a gig for you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I book a lot of my photographers for gigs in town. This is just some publicity shots—"

"Uh … I don't think so, Pam." I interrupted.

"Excuse me?" I could practically hear her sputtering on the other end.

I paused, trying to figure out the best way to put it. "The whole Hollywood thing just isn't my deal"

Pam was silent. In fact, I couldn't even hear her breathe. "Pam?"

She finally replied through clenched teeth, "I'm here, Sookie. I'm just—having a hard time understanding you."

"Oh?"

"Look, Sookie. You have a gift. It would be a terrible thing to waste such talent." The coldness of her voice was chilling.

"Wh-what do you mean, _waste_?" I stammered. The way she said it kind of scared me—like I'd be finding a horse's head in my bed the next morning.

"Well, what do you want to do with your life?"

I didn't answer her, because I didn't have an answer.

She let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. "Do you _want_ to pursue your photography? Because if you do, this is your golden opportunity."

I let out my own exasperated sigh. "I'd hardly call following around some spoiled, diva celebrity-type a _golden opportunity_."

"Oh, my little country bumpkin friend. I see you still have _so_ much to learn," she let the chill of her accusation form ice crystals in the air before continuing. "It's not the job itself, silly girl, it's the exposure it will give you."

"Oh."

"Yes. _Oh_," she replied, and I was relieved that the harsh edge had at least left her voice, replaced by her usual bored snarkasm. "Look, you don't have to commit to anything right now. Just agree to at least seriously consider doing this one gig."

Pam took my silence as agreement. "Good. We will all meet for lunch, then. Tomorrow. Say, noon?"

"Okay, fine." I mumbled before saying goodbye.

I hung up the phone and tried not to think about what this could mean, or would mean, because that would force me to think about such huge things as what the hell I was doing with my life. I really couldn't imagine—or at least didn't want to—living so far away from the only home and family I'd ever known. But, did that mean I'd settle for being an underpaid and overworked barmaid for the rest of my life? I cringed at the thought, preferring to focus my anger at Pam for bringing up the question, than the question itself. I mean, she may as well have asked me what I want to be when I grow up. She certainly had balls, I'll give her that. What bothered me most, though, was that I couldn't quite convince myself that I _didn't_ like it.

I shot up from the bed, realizing that I was too wound up to stay in my room until Amelia got here tonight to watch Fiends with me.

I quickly gathered my hair up in a high ponytail, and headed out.

* * *

_**Eric**_

I made my way to the photography gallery as soon as I entered the museum. It was always the very first thing I went to see whenever I came to the Getty. Happy to discover that the museum was fairly empty, especially for a weekend day, I slowed my step, letting the acrid scent of the museum hall—an oddly comforting mixture of old oil paint, preservation chemicals, and stale air—clear my mind.

She was the first thing I noticed upon entering the room.

No, it couldn't possibly be.

But it _had_ to be.

That small curvy frame and shapely legs poured into dark jeans, her long, blonde hair, now pulled up in a high ponytail that exposed the nape of her neck—there was no one else it _could_ be. I recognized her immediately.

_Fuck me. Hard. _

I was either the luckiest fucking guy in the whole damn world, or the universe was playing the sickest fucking joke on me.

After seeing her drive off last night, all disapproving and shit, I knew that I would have my work cut out for me if I wanted another chance with her. I just never expected to have that opportunity so soon.

I was still staring at her backside—and not just that luscious ass, although it was plenty distracting in that clinging denim—just trying to figure out if it was really her, when she finally turned around. I was overcome by the smell of vanilla and sunshine as her hair swung its delicious scent into the air around us, and her eyes settled on me.

Her gasp awoke me from my trance.

"Well, well, well," I said after a silence that stretched a bit into awkward territory. "Imagine running into you here."

I could feel my friendly-yet-polite smile turn into a lopsided grin when my eyes travelled downward, catching sight of the shirt she was wearing. Her bountiful and perky tits were stretching the letters spelling out _Team Human _quite nicely.

"Ahem." She cleared her throat and crossed her arms, but the defensive movement only served to push up and accentuate her assets.

My eyes shot back up to hers, which were now blazing with indignation. "I'm glad to see the shirt fits."

She snorted. "I'm sure," she muttered, and walked past me to look at the next photograph.

I trailed not too far behind her, and was quite pleased when she didn't voice any objections. We walked through the rest of the gallery in silence.

When we were done, she turned to me, squaring her shoulders. "Well, Eric, it was definitely … interesting running into you here."

Then, she surprised the hell out of me when she leaned up on her tiptoes to give me a peck me on the cheek.

"Thanks for everything," she said in a breathy voice, before she turned to leave. "I know it was all in the line of duty for you, n' all, but it really was an amazing experience for a mere mortal like me."

I was still trying to figure out what the hell she meant, and what would be the best way to respond, when she started moving away. But I grabbed her wrist and held onto her. "And just where do you think you're going so quickly?"

She turned, confusion clouding her face, and fucking biting down on her lower lip, all full, pouty and shiny with gloss. Shit, did she have any idea how unbelievably fuckhot that was?

"Did you eat lunch yet?" I asked.

She twisted her hand out of my hold, huffing with indignation. "I did, but even you couldn't be so arrogant as to think I would _actually_ agree to go to lunch with _you_?"

I flinched infinitesimally_. _I wasn't sure how much of my messing around with those girls she had seen last night, but I knew she must have at least glimpsed some of it. I considered explaining that nothing—well, maybe not nothing, but not much—had actually happened, but quickly decided that ignoring the elephant in the room would be the best way to make it disappear, or at least fade away into the background. For now anyway.

I lowered my voice to my best sexy purr. "Oh, I wasn't going to ask you to lunch."

"Well, good," she sneered. "Because if I had any appetite before, it would be all gone now."

"But … I _was_ going to ask you if I could take you to the G Spot," I replied with my sweetest choir-boy smile, waggling my brows.

She gasped and blushed that shade that made me so goddamn horny for her. "You are _un_believebale."

"What?"

"_What_? Are you serious? The _G_ spot?" she spat.

"Yeah. The Gelato Spot. Only the best gelato this side of the Atlantic."

Her furrowed brows smoothed out as my explanation sunk in. But then she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, her lips tugging into a smirk she was obviously doing her best to conceal. "_Gelato_, huh?"

I nodded.

"Um … thanks, but no thanks."

She began to walk away again, but I followed close behind. "Why not?"

She gave me a pointed glare. "Mere mortals aren't supposed to hang around with the likes of you. Don't you know that it only upsets the natural order of things? And, it only ends badly."

"Oh, Sookie, stop talking nonsense."

The look she shot me made me shrink back a little bit, but only made me more determined than ever to get her to agree.

"Come on, all this walking has got to have worked up your appetite," I teased, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, what else have you got planned to entertain yourself for the rest of the day?"

She stopped in her tracks and turned her full gaze on me. She was positively seething "I have plenty to—"

"Whoa, hang on a sec, Sookie," I said, raising my palms in the air in a gesture of surrender. "I swear, I didn't mean anything by it. I just—I'd really love to take you."

I could see the tense line of her neck and shoulders soften a bit, so I knew I almost had her convinced. "And, I promise—I'll have you back home in plenty of time for tonight's _Fiends_ episode."

**  
**Her eyes widened and the blush returned to her cheeks. But then, something else flashed across her eyes—it was almost like she was somewhere else for a fraction of a second.

She swallowed and gave me a quick nod.

I grinned, quite satisfied with myself, maybe a bit too much. As we walked out of the museum, I moved closer to her and linked my arm through hers. She pushed me away and gave me a pointed glare.

"Don't push it, Northman."

* * *

_**Sookie**_

I wasn't really sure what had possessed me. Blame the hopeless fangirl in me, I guess. I was, most likely, going back home tomorrow. So, I told myself, I'd never see him again. It was a toss-up between hanging out by myself in my hotel room, or, spending the afternoon with EN. Hell, he smelled too good to say no.

I let out my breath, and let myself go.

When he raced down the highway in his Corvette with the top down, I just closed my eyes and gave in to the sensation of the wind whipping through my hair and against my skin.

When he told me I should get the affogato shot, I didn't gasp or bristle at his high-handedness. I listened to his low, gravelly voice explain how it was a shot of espresso pulled over a scoop of gelato, and then simply licked my lips in anticipation and asked what flavor of gelato I should get. Ignoring the devious smirk that tugged at his lips as he suggested the dulce_de leche, I just nodded in agreement and stood at the bar, watching the concoction being made with fascination and a watering mouth. The dark, dense liquid poured out of the machine, sliding over the rich ice cream as it melted. _

_The barista placed both of our affogatos on the counter. I reached out to grab mine, scowling when my hand was slapped away. I looked toward the offending source, only to see EN's eyes dancing over me with childlike glee. He grabbed both of the glasses with one of his impossibly large hands, and placed his other hand at the small of my back to guide me to our seats._

I was very surprised when we walked past the outdoor patio, and out to the beach. But, EN seemed fairly certain of our destination, so I just let myself be led by the gentle pressure of his warm hand against my back.

As we sat down in the sand, I just couldn't resist. I slipped off my sandalsand pulled my knees up to my chest, digging my feet into the warm sand underneath me. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I glanced at Eric sitting beside me. "So, do you take all the ladies to the G Spot?" I asked in an innocent tone, but the smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth probably gave me away.

"I do my best," he replied with a wink, handing me my glass as he settled beside me.

I snorted, "Why am I not surprised?"

Then I put the glass to my lips and took my first sip—and I was _so_ gone.

I was helpless to stifle the soft moan that escaped my lips as the dense, sweet heavenly liquid filled my mouth—strong espresso perfectly melded with sweet caramel and the delicate flavor of vanilla. This _had_ to be the best way to ingest caffeine. Hands down.

Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the blissful sensations of the delicious concoction as well as the warm sun on my skin. Ignoring the searing heat of EN's eyes roaming over me, I dug in further to my own little corner of heaven, and took another sip.

My tongue shot out to lick the coffee-gelato moustache that had formed on my upper lip. The next moment, I felt the air move around me, and gasped at the sensation of two very large hands grabbing my knees, pulling my legs apart. My eyes shot open; EN was a mere inches from me, tugging my legs open even farther as he wedged his body in between them, supporting himself on his own knees. He stared at my lips and then closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as a shudder shook his entire body. A sound escaped from his throat, and I swear to god, it sounded like a growl. A _growl!_ And dear lord help me, it did the most delicious things to all my traitorous girly bits.

I knew I should stop this. But I found no strength or will to do anything but stay exactly where I was as he inched closer and closer. He pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth, nuzzling into me, the rough stubble of his jaw setting my skin on fire. Flicking his tongue out, he traced the line that my own tongue had traveled just a moment before, licking up any remaining traces of the sweet, sticky substance that remained on my skin. His moan vibrated along my lips and all around me, and I had to use every ounce of strength within me not to buck up into him.

His breath was hot against my skin as he feasted on my lips with a dizzying multitude of soft kisses—though, they were really somewhere in between nibbles and sucks, like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to lick me all the way down to my gooey center, or just eat me up.

My mouth relented to his gentle assault without so much as a backwards glance, parting to invite him in. He accepted by taking my upper lip into his mouth, sucking on it and giving it a light nip before letting it drop and meeting my lips full on.

I lost myself to the sensation of his lips moving against mine—an impossible combination of firm and soft, rough and gentle, licking, sucking, probing—conquering. His heat surrounded me, filled me, engulfed me. I was only vaguely aware of letting go of the glass, dropping it on the sand beside us, as I reached up to twist his shirt in my hands, pulling him closer into me. He just tasted so amazingly good, the delicious flavors of the coffee and ice cream blended with something else that was so manly and hot and … just scrumptious.

I was awakened from my lust-induced haze by the sound of people walking on the beach behind us. I gained a semblance of some self control and flattened my palms against his chest, pushing him away.

After a moment that seemed to drag on forever, he finally relented. Sitting back on his haunches, he licked his lips, like a lazy cat licking its damn whiskers. His mouth turned up into that knee-buckling satisfied smirk, as he whispered, "Yum."

He took the words right of my mouth.

Oh, hell.

* * *

_A/N: There, there… is that a little better? Could the Viking actually be, ahem, penetrating Sookie's defenses? *giggles*  
_

_As always, I am beyond flattered by all the review love that you guys leave for me … but my appetite in never satiated ;D Feed me some more, please :-)  
_


	9. Dodge & Burn

_ A/N: *blushes profusely*__The finalists for the NoN contest have been announced, and my entry has made the list! I'm truly honored to be chosen among such amazing stories. If you haven't already, please check them all out. You can vote for your favorite here:_

_http://www . fanfiction . net/~naughtyornicelist_

_**The poll will close on February 5th!**_

_A/N: Nutella kissies to my amazing betas r—__** nycsnowbird**__ and __**youbettago**__. Any mistakes remaining are purely my own ;p_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine._

_

* * *

  
_

_**CHAPTER 8: DODGE & BURN**_

There is nothing worse than a brilliant image of a fuzzy concept.

~Ansel Adams

* * *

I was extremely relieved that I would be going home soon.

Granted, I might stay for a few extra days—I'd told Pam that I would give this gig serious consideration, and I intended to. My Gran raised me to keep my word, and I prided myself on always doing so. But, even if I did end up taking the gig, I would be going home soon … and none too early, as far as I was concerned.

A delicious shiver ran through my body as I remembered the predatory gaze that EN had turned on me on the beach, while we waited for the people who had intruded on our kiss to walk past us. I was panting, struggling to gain some small control of my senses, even as waves of unadulterated lust poured off of him, threatening to knock me right back down.

He didn't seem to want to control himself; instead, he looked like he was luxuriating in his seduction, just waiting for the intruders to retreat so he could make his move. I blinked rapidly and shook my head as my heart pounded in my chest, trying to convince myself that I was just imagining things, when he made that growling noise again. I admit I was a bit too focused on trying to figure out how it was physically possible for a human to make that noise, and why I was so damned turned on by it, to stop him when he crawled toward me, pulling me into his arms in one liquid motion.

Moaning at the hot kisses that he pressed into my neck, I wasn't quite able, or willing, to stop him. His hands were so strong and demanding, his breath so hot and delicious against my skin—all I could do was lean against him, digging my hands into his hair as I tried to steady myself.

The feel of his demanding hands brazenly slipping under my shirt finally woke me from my lust-induced haze. I gasped in shock as I felt his fingers sliding higher and higher and immediately yanked his hands away. He groaned a protest against my skin, his lips hot and moist as he buried his face deeper into my neck.

Did he actually think I was like one of those skanky hos, that I would just lay on my back and spread my legs for him – in public no less – unable to resist the EN magic?

No, sirree. I had no intention of becoming another notch on his Viking-sized bedpost. No matter how enjoyable it might be.

With my mind made up, I began to shove at his large, muscular shoulders with all of the force I could muster. "Get off me, Eric."

He took one long, shuddering breath and pulled away.

I jumped to my feet as soon as I was free of his hold and glared down at him. "I know you're used to sluts dropping their panties when you just look their way, but I'm not like that. I was raised better," I raged.

The lust instantly dropped from his eyes to be replaced by confusion quickly turning to pain. _Huh_? Eric Northman, Mr. Hollywood playboy, was hurt? What did _he_ have to be hurt about?

But damn, if he didn't look hotter than ever, his hair all tousled and knotted as he looked up at me, scratching the back of his head, his bicep muscles rippling with the movement. Why did his sex appeal only seem to grow in direct proportion to how much harder I tried to resist him?

He rose to his feet and moved toward me, and I backed up, unwilling to relinquish the safety net of the distance I had put between us.

"Sookie, listen—I'm sorry. I don't know what you saw, but—"

"I saw enough," I snapped, raising my hands, palms flat, signaling him to stop advancing toward me. "Please, just drive me back to my hotel."

His stuck his hands into his pockets and seemed to be almost preoccupied with digging them in as far as they would fit, his shoulders slumping forward. When he finally looked up into my eyes I had to stop myself from staggering backward by the intensity in those ice-blue orbs. I suddenly had a vision of an adorably pouty, terrified little boy who had just been caught using his crayons on the living room wall.

"Of course," he muttered. " I'll take you back right away. But I just want you to know, nothing ended up happening—"

He stopped as I raised my hand again. "Please. You don't owe me any explanations … and I certainly don't want to hear all the gory details."

He opened his mouth to continue, but I threw up my hand again, and thankfully, this time he went silent. I couldn't bear his eyes. He drove me home in silence and I leaped out of the car when we arrived, giving him no opportunity to apologize.

My phone alarm startled me out of my thoughts. It was 11:30 a.m. I had set it after breakfast, to remind myself when to head downstairs for my lunch date with Pam.

Yes, I definitely had to get out of dodge. While the gettin' was good.

As much as I had enjoyed my little Sunday afternoon delight with EN, I knew that I was playing with fire—get too close, and you're bound to get burned. And, resisting the pull of the flame would only get harder the longer I stuck around.

* * *

I straightened my skirt and wiped away at invisible dirt, as I entered the restaurant.

"May I help you, Miss?" the hostess asked in the too-chipper tone of a well-practiced foot soldier in the customer service field, looking up from the magazine she was flipping through as soon as she sensed my presence.

"Um … yeah. I'm supposed to meet Pamela Ravenscroft for lunch?" I grimaced slightly, hating how my statements seemed to come out as questions when I got nervous. And new, unknown surroundings always made me nervous.

She gave me a warm, practiced smile and walked out from behind the greeter's station to lead me to my table. "Right this way, Miss."

I followed close behind.

"Oh, by the way," she told me over her shoulder as we wound our way through the seating area. "Miss Ravenscroft hasn't arrived yet. She just called to let us know that she was running a little behind, but she'll be here soon."

I'd barely had time to register and acknowledge her statement, when she stopped in front of me and motioned to my seat. I nodded my thanks and was just about to sit down, when I froze in my tracks. My hands reached for the chair in front of me, clenching its back tightly. _Of course! _How had I _not_ put two and two together?_ Ugh. _I wasn't sure who I was more furious with—Pam for pulling this crap, or myself, for being stupid enough not to figure out what she had been up to.

EN looked up at me, combing his graceful, long fingers through the golden waves cascading down his shoulders, and fixing me with a thousand watt grin. "Sookie, so nice to see that you are professional and punctual … unlike our good friend, Pam."

I gritted my teeth. "_You_'re the client? This is unbelievable, even for _you_, Northman."

His smile only deepened. "I take it this does not please you, Sookie?"

I could only glower at him in silent fury, seething at his words and conceited, cocky swagger. The man obviously thought he was all that, _and_ a big ol' jar of Nutella. I wondered if there was anything out there that could deflate that annoyingly oversized ego of his.

His smile softened as he straightened up in his seat. "Look, I understand why you might feel this way. But, please, sit down and catch your breath before you jump to any conclusions."

I gaped at him, eyes widening. The sheer gall would be laughable if it wasn't so disgusting. Yet, somehow, it was irresistible. Damn Viking smirk. I mean, it just wasn't fair on this poor country girl. It was a weapon of mass seduction, and he knew how to wield it entirely too well. There really should be some law against using it so mercilessly – like a no smirk zone. I had to stop myself from snickering at the thought of what special army unit could be called upon to enforce it—maybe the department of panty-land security?

He continued, his voice unnervingly cool and confident, either oblivious to my boiling rage, or simply choosing to ignore it. "Let's just enjoy our lunch, and then we can talk about it, okay?"

This finally snapped me out of my daze. I started backing up, huffing with indignation, "What? No way, buster! If you think I'm sitting down at the same table with you, much less eating—" My movement was suddenly blocked and my tirade interrupted as I felt two soft yet surprisingly strong arms curl around my shoulders. Gentle but firm.

"And where do you think you're going, little one?" A familiar cool, bored purr breathed next to my ear.

I spun around to face Pam, placing a hand on my hip and directing the full blast of my rage at her.

"So nice of you to join us, Pam," Eric said from behind me. But, he sounded more amused than upset.

"Oh, yes, Pam," I fumed. "_So_ nice of you to finally join us."

"Now, now," she replied, all innocent smiles and reassuring pats. "Remember, you agreed to have lunch with me and your potential client."

I seethed, and was just about to tell her where she could shove her 'client', when she put her finger to my lips. "Come on Sookie, you and I both know that you would have never agreed to this meeting if I'd actually told you who the client was."

My shoulders slumped in silent agreement, though I wasn't about to admit to anything out loud.

Pam slung her arm around me and guided both of us toward the table. "Just hear him out. You can't refuse him until you at least know what it is exactly you're saying no to."

Flopping down in my chair with resignation, I snatched the menu and hid behind it, trying to ignore my lunch companions for as long as possible. Or at least until I could figure out a decent exit strategy.

Unfortunately, the waitress came to take our orders, and thereafter, our menus, entirely too soon. I knew it was totally childish, but I held onto mine when she reached for it, playing a ridiculous game of tug of war until I was finally able to snap myself out of it with a sheepish, apologetic smile. Sitting next to Pam and across from Eric, sans menu-shield, I couldn't help but feel a bit naked and defenseless. I scanned the room and our table, attempting to find something, anything, to look at but _them_.

Pam reached out and covered my hand with her own, stilling my fidgeting. "So, would you like to discuss this now, little one, or after we eat?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, I turned my gaze to her. "We may as well get this over with now," I huffed, yanking my hand away. Crossing my arms and leaning as far back and away as my chair would allow, I eyed the both of them and waited.

"Right. Well, Eric here is in need of some photographs for the Fiends promotional calendar," Pam started explaining, and I told myself to focus on one spot, straight ahead of me, so I wouldn't start hyperventilating. Visions of EN, sprawled out in all his naked glory flashed before me.

I was suddenly aware that both Pam and Eric were looking at me, waiting for some sort of response.

"That's what you want to hire me for?" I finally blurted out, glaring at each of them, in turn. "But, I thought that calendar just came out."

"Oh, I am not happy with those pictures," Eric replied with a disgusted wave of his hand.

I couldn't stop the snort that escaped my lips. "Well, I think every red-blooded woman in America—no, scratch that—the world, is _quite_ happy with those pictures."

I swallowed my groan as I saw his smile widen, realizing just a bit too late that I had inadvertently fed his ego. _As if he needed it._

"Oh, I have no doubt that it pleases the masses," he said. "But, I am not pleased with the airbrushing hack job they took it upon themselves to do without my approval."

Smirking, I looked him up and down. "Wow, really? Is au naturel Eric Northman not up to industry standards?"

"Oh, it wasn't that kind of airbrushing. Trust me, there is no need for that, Sookie," he replied in a low, provocative voice. He leaned forward, whispering the rest as if it was too horrifying to even speak out loud. "They made it look like I shave. _Everywhere_."

I rolled my eyes. When that calendar first came out, I thought it was cute when he'd spoken out about this photograph, seeking to assure his fans, without a shadow of a doubt, that he thought hair was sexy—everywhere—and that he would never take a razor to what god had naturally given him. But, to think that he would care enough about it to actually hire a photographer to take a new set of pictures? That seemed borderline narcissistic. And I mean the clinical variety.

"So, naturally, I was the first name that came to mind?" I sneered.

We were interrupted by the arrival of our food. Eric leaned back as the waitress placed a plate in front of him. His eyes locked on mine, waiting until she placed our food on the table and left, before continuing. "I had actually been just halfheartedly looking for a photographer … you know, just keeping an eye out. I wasn't sure exactly what I was looking for, but I was sure I would know it when I saw it."

He paused for a moment to unroll his silverware from the napkin, before returning his gaze to me. "And, as soon as I saw your work—I just knew it."

Hearing Pam snort beside me, I waited for her to explain what she'd found so hilarious. I turned to her after a few moments passed and she hadn't elaborated, only to see her eating her meal. She ignored my glare, and just waved her fork at us, encouraging us to continue.

I turned back to Eric, and had to swallow my incredulity. He, too, was eating as if we had just been shooting the shit, like we had been talking about the weather, or last night's Laker's game.

Sighing, I took my own napkin and set it on my lap. "Well, not that I'm not very flattered by your offer—but, um … well—this isn't really my cup of tea." Ignoring his raised eyebrow, I continued. "Actually, I find it kind of hard to understand how you could like my photos enough to want to hire me, without noticing that I don't do the kind of shots that you're obviously looking for, for this, um … shoot, or whatever."

As soon as I finished, I turned my attention to my food, digging in with ferocity.

"Exactly what kind of shots did you think I was looking for?"

My eyes shot up snaring his gaze, my fork dangling in midair. His eyes danced with amusement as I focused on trying to chew the lead weight in my mouth and swallowing hard before proceeding. "Uh… well, you did mention these were for the Fiends calendar…"

"Right," he replied, his tone making it clear that he was still waiting for clarification.

"Well, whatever. In case you didn't notice, I don't do those flashy, glossy, posed-type photographs."

"Oh? Please do explain, Sookie," he replied. "What kind of photographs _do_ you do?"

I swallowed nervously, feeling suddenly caged. "Look, Eric, I didn't mean any disrespect, or anything. It's just—I've never even used one of those light umbrella thingies, or told someone how to pose. It's not what I do."

He put down his fork, and turned his full attention to me. "Please, do tell. What is it that you do?" he asked silkily.

I gritted my teeth. He certainly wasn't making this any easier for me. He seemed to delight in torturing me. "Well, I just try to capture life, I guess. I don't force it. And, I usually just take pictures of people I'm pretty close to. It's kind of like … a conversation, I guess."

"That's exactly why I noticed and fell in love with your work. And that's exactly why I want to have you take these photos of me."

"But … it's not that easy. I mean, I barely know you," I protested.

"Oh, that could be easily remedied," he replied, waggling his brows suggestively.

"Oh, brother," I moaned, shaking my head.

"Now, now, Eric," Pam interrupted. "Are you trying to convince her, or make the poor little thing run away and hide?"

Eric shot her an annoyed glare, but she turned to face me before continuing. "Honestly, Sookie, even though Eric does seem to have become quite … enamored, I assure you, he was very impressed by your work. And that was the reason, at first, at least, that he wanted to hire you."

I narrowed my eyes at her, then turned to study Eric's face. It was just too implausible, especially since he'd pretty much tried to get in my pants this entire weekend; it just seemed like too convenient a way to keep me around so he could keep trying, probably thinking he could eventually wear me down.

"Sookie, I assure you," he said. "We can keep this strictly professional. If that is what you desire, of course."

I took another bite of my food, and studied him carefully. Better to keep my mouth otherwise occupied until I could figure out the best way to proceed. It seemed to be a genuine offer. But, then again, he was an actor. A very talented actor.

"So, no funny business?"

He chuckled. "Okay, if you insist." After a few moments of blissful silence, he added, "Of course, that still leaves us with one more problem."

I nearly choked on my food, and had to take a few very large gulps of iced tea to push the food down my tight throat. The way he purred the word _problem_ made it seem like he didn't really see it as a problem. I finally managed to croak out, "What problem would that be?"

He smirked. "Oh, well—we're going to have to find a way to get to know each other better. You know, so you can … _capture_ me."

I rolled my eyes again, doing my best to calm my now-labored breathing. Damn him and his sex voice. And those smirking eyes. And … well, never mind. Snap out of it, Sookie. _Geesh_.

I pulled myself together and faced him. "What exactly did you have in mind, Eric?"

He grinned like a horny teenager discovering his older brother's stash of skin mags—a mixture of glee and sex and anticipation. "Why don't you come over to my home for dinner? That should … break the ice."

"You can't seriously think …." I trailed off, unable to finish my train of thought.

"What? I promise I'll behave." Another suggestive eyebrows waggle.

"Does this routine actually work for you?" I sneered, my lips curling into an undisguised snarl. "A wink here, a brow waggle there, and don't forget to toss in a sexy smirk?"

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. I could almost smell blood, but it only encouraged me to dig in the knife just a little bit deeper. "I already told you—I'm not one of your _ho-workers_. This crap won't work on me."

Shaking my head, I returned my attention to the food in front of me, doing my damndest to ignore the maniacal cackles issuing from Pam beside me.

My eyes shot up to look at him as I heard his chair scrape loudly against the floor. He had risen to his full and very impressive height, but as my gaze finally reached his face, I couldn't help but feel a painful twinge in my heart at the hurt that I saw there.

"I do hope that you will decide to work with me. I think that it could be beneficial to both of our careers." He bent down to give Pam a quick peck on the cheek before straightening up and turning to go. "I trust that you can make the final arrangements with Pam," he added in a cool, distant tone right before he walked away.

I turned to Pam when I felt her cool hand come to rest on my shoulder. She was still wiping at her tears with her free hand, but her smile was now gone. "Seriously, Sookie … as entertaining as it is to watch, I really do think you should throw the man a bone."

"What?" I huffed with indignation.

"As hard as it may be for you to swallow—a job _is_ a job. You should be pouncing on it." She tucked a stray hand behind my hair, and when I looked into her eyes, I could see the devious glint had returned to them. "But, just because it's a job, doesn't mean you can't have fun."

* * *

_A/N Well that was a fun lunch date, wasn't it? Now go ahead and make me (and EN, of course) happy -- press that little green button and let me know what you thought._

_How would you like to be in a dark room with Alexander Skarsgrad? *giggles* No! Not that kind of darkroom, silly! If you want to see AS's new film, Beyond the Pole, at your local theater you can help by going to the facebook fanpage: _

http://www . facebook . com/permalink . php?story_fbid=270729477299&id=172486521602 (just take out the dots, as always)

_They need 10,000 fans, and are currently around 2,000!_


	10. Blowup

_**CHAPTER 9: BLOWUP**_

_It is one thing to photograph people. It is another to make others care about them by revealing the core of their humanness._

_~Paul Strand_

* * *

_**Sookie**_

I relented. Eventually.

It may have been because I knew Pam wouldn't leave me alone until I did.

It could very well have been because she assured me that, even if I agreed to this one gig, it didn't mean I was committed to any more jobs here in L.A. It seemed like she somehow instinctively knew that I was more concerned about missing home than anything else.

Then she had to go and hit me in my soft spot—asking about my Southern manners with her trademark snarky attitude. I was speechless, because even though EN may very well be a man-whore, I was most definitely not raised to talk about it at the dinner table. Or lunch table. Whatever.

But what probably really did me in, was finding out that if I chose to take the job, I would be moving into a downtown loft – leased by the gallery for its artists in residence, and apparently functioning as Pam's backup shack pad—with its own private state of the art darkroom. I'm sure she knew exactly what she was doing when she dangled that bait in front of me.

She took me for a little tour around the apartment, and as soon as we made it up the stairs and entered the studio area, I was done. As in 'stick a fork in me'. Completely. Done.

My eyes widened as I took in the L-shaped desk that was built into the corner, overlooking the open living space below. One side of the desk, the side facing out toward the rest of the apartment, was a drafting table, with a light box that took up about one third of its length. Perfect for looking at negatives, while still leaving a large space to spread out prints or contact sheets. I began to drool, even before turning to look at the other half of the desk, which had a very high-tech looking computer, with what looked like three screens.

The darkroom, needless to say, was stocked with everything I could possibly dream of, all shiny and new and just begging to be used.

So, what could I do?

I shrugged my shoulders and gave in, ignoring the smug grin that Pam turned on me.

She dropped me off at the hotel, with instructions to call Eric and figure out the arrangements with him.

I must admit, I was quite shocked she didn't want to be present when I made the call. Oh well, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The hardest thing I had to do, though, was calling Gran.

Even though I was just calling her to let her know I'd be delayed in coming home by a few days, it already seemed like such a long time since I'd seen her, that hearing her voice put a big lump in my throat. I could not remember ever being away from her—and so far away—for so long.

So I was quite surprised at her reaction when I told her how much I missed home.

"I know it's your first time being away from home, dear, but you need put on your big girl pants, missie!"

"Gran!"

"What? I just don't think you should be in such a rush to come home, that's all."

I huffed with indignation. I just couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Why?"

"I could ask you the same question, Susannah Stackhouse."

"Huh?"

"Tell me. Why are you in such a hurry to get back here?"

"I—I just don't think L.A. is the place for me," I answered. "Plus, I miss home. So much."

"Oh, I know that dear. It's always hard to be away from home, but especially the first time."

She remained silent and gave me the dignity of ignoring my tears.

After a long pause, she spoke again. "Sookie, you know I only want what's best for you. I just want you to consider, that just because you're missing home, that doesn't necessarily mean that home is the best place for you. No matter what, you'll _always_ miss home."

* * *

_**Eric**_

I booked it out of the restaurant as fast as my (thankfully, very long) legs would take me. I was so done with this shit.

I could certainly understand Sookie being all defensive, but she wouldn't cut me _any_ slack. It was like I could do nothing right.

Over the past few days, I had gotten to catch a glimpse of that gorgeous crimson blush of hers several times, and even a couple of genuine smiles and giggles, but it seemed like as soon as she would allow herself to let go for just a tiny bit, she would suddenly remember herself, and slam down that wall even harder than before.

Hell, if she wanted to throw away what was probably the best opportunity of her life, then that was her problem. I was done trying to convince her. Screw that shit.

The ball was in her court now, as the saying goes.

But as I sped down the highway on my way back home, her words kept ringing through my head.

_Ho-workers._

My fingers clenched around the wheel so tightly, my knuckles were turning white. Why the hell was it bothering me so much? And why did I have the ridiculous desire to prove her wrong?

_Maybe because she could actually be right, Northman._

Hell. No.

I shook my head to rid myself of that utterly ridiculous train of thought. Just because some silly little fangirl—as hot and talented as she might be—refused to look past her own stereotypes and insecurities, that was no reason for me to go all emo bitch.

I mean, Jesus fuck! If I were any more pathetic, I should be doing a photo shoot for the cover of emo Vogue. Hell, cake on the guy-liner, squeeze me into skinny girl-jeans, lace up the combat boots and throw me in a corner. I'd be the fucking poster boy, no need for any acting.

Oh, don't forget the man-bag, I thought as I pulled in to my driveway and yanked on the emergency break before the car even came to a complete stop. You have to have somewhere to stow away the guy-liner for those post-meltdown-sob touch-ups, and, of course, the moleskin journal to pen your whiny poems.

I headed inside, and made my way straight to the bar, where I knew there was a bottle of Jack waiting for me. God, I was being such a ruh taaard—drowning my ridiculous emo hissy fit was the only sane thing to do.

My hands paused over the shot glass for a brief second, but, thinking better of it, I just grabbed for the bottle and headed for the peaceful sanctuary of the balcony. Hard alcohol—and lots of it—plus the soothing sound of the surf was exactly what I needed to get _her_ out of my fucking head.

But my cell phone rang just as I was reaching the door. I froze for a moment, but kept moving, deciding against getting it. I was in no mood for talking. They'd leave a message if it was that important.

Settling into a seat, I pulled the phone out of my pocket, and laid it on the table. After the first swig sent the familiar, welcoming burn down my throat, my eyes involuntarily darted to the phone.

_You have one new message._

And it wasn't an L.A. number.

Well, well, well. This should be interesting. My lips curled into a smirk as I dialed up voicemail and waited to hear my message.

"_Uh … hi, Eric. This is Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse. Um … Pam gave me this number and suggested I call. I … uh … wanted to say I was sorry for jumping down your throat. I … I was probably a little too hard on you. And rude. So, I wanted to just apologize for forgettin' my manners. Gosh. My Gran would give me such a talkin' to if she would have heard me. Well, anyway. Now I'm rambling. I, uh … wanted to see … well, I was hoping that we could talk a little more about our working together? Well, if you're still interested, just give me a call back at this number. (long pause, followed by a heavy sigh) 'Kay, well, bye._"

Sookie's sweet southern drawl was filled with the most precious mixture of uncertainty and regret. _Fuck_. Did I just say _precious_?

I took another long, hard drag of the alcohol before I settled back into the seat and returned the call.

"Hello?"

"Sookie, so nice to hear from you. And so quickly, too."

"Oh, hi Eric."

"So … this isn't a prank, is it?" I teased, and was immediately rewarded with one adorable as fuck snort. Followed by a stifled giggle. _Bonus_.

"No. No it's not. I swear."

"Ooooh, I love it when you swear."

"Oh, stop it," she swallowed, uncertain. "Well, thank you for calling me back. _And so quickly, too._"

I chuckled. "You're welcome, Sookie. _Only for you._"

After the silence stretched a bit too long, I added. "So, what exactly would you like to talk about, Sookie?"

"Oh! Right, well … if you're still interested in talking about us working together …."

God, I wished I could see the 10 alarm fire that _had_ to be burning her cheeks. "Of course. I meant what I said earlier. I think this would be a great opportunity for both of us."

"Yes. Well, I definitely appreciate this opportunity, Eric. And, if you're really serious about keeping it strictly professional, then I would love to work with you."

"Like I just said, I meant every word I told you earlier."

I could practically hear her swallow hard. "Okay, so how do you suggest we proceed?"

Wow, progress. Will wonders never cease.

"Hmmm … well how about we do this? We'll meet on neutral ground."

She snorted. "_Neutral_ ground, huh?"

"Oh, I do adore that lovely snort of yours, Sookie. Yes, I'll take you to check out a couple of locations for the shoot. You should bring your camera, so you can take test shots of some of the possible backdrops."

"Oh, are you sure you want to be the third wheel with me and my camera?" She let out an embarrassed, choked half-laughter. "Sorry, I mean, it could get kind of boring for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Um … just that I tend to be in my own world when I have a camera in my hand. I'm not very good company. Maybe we could talk, and then you could just drop me—"

"Are you _kidding_ me?" I interrupted her. I tamped down on the frustration in my voice before continuing. "I would _love_ to see how you work."

Was she seriously loopy? Who wouldn't jump at the opportunity to see the world through an artist's eyes? "Seriously, Sookie, I would consider it an honor, and a privilege, to tag along."

She gave a heavy sigh. "Well, alright. If you really want to. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Okay, it's settled then. Meet me at 320 Golden Shore tomorrow at 8:00 a.m."

"What's at 320 Golden Shore?"

"Oh, you'll just have to wait till tomorrow to see." I replied coyly. "Oh, and Sookie?"

"Hmmm?"

"Make sure to get plenty of rest. We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow. Sweet dreams."

I hung up immediately, savoring the shocked gasp that was audible, even over the phone.

Oh, you think you know me, Sookie Stackhouse, but you have _no_ idea.

* * *

_**Sookie**_

I held the phone away from my still-ringing ears as Amelia continued her shriek-squeals on the other end of the line.

I knew the girl was easily excited, but I never realized she had quite this impressive of a lung capacity.

She would not survive a horror movie for very long, I mused. The big screechers were usually the ones to go first.

When the screams finally abated, I put the phone back to my ear with caution. "I take it you approve then, Ami?"

"Ohmi_god_, Sooks! This is so … ahhh!" She barely paused for a breath. "What are you going to wear?"

I snorted. "Geesh, Amelia, you seem to be quite concerned with wardrobe."

"Girl, did you think that maybe you're not concerned enough with wardrobe, miss I'm-gonna-spend-the-day-with-the-hottest-vamp -on-the-fucking-planet!"

I tried to stifle my giggles, but wasn't very successful.

"Okay, so … where are you guys going?"

I started chomping on my lower lip, not quite sure what would be the best way to answer my friend.

"Hellooo? Sookie? Anybody ho-oome?" She sang into the phone.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, still here. It's just—well, we're meeting at 320 Golden Shore, but I'm not so sure what's there. He wouldn't tell me." I sighed, then added in an irritated mumble, "Just said to meet him there."

I doubt that Amelia heard half of what I said though, because she collapsed into a fit of cackles. It took her a full five minutes to recover. "Well, why don't you just google that shit?"

"No. No, I don't want to do that, that's like cheating, or something."

"Are. You. Serious?"

That didn't seem like it was much of a question, so I just walked over to my suitcase to search for an outfit while I waited for her to continue.

"Okay, fine. I'll do it, then."

"No! Amelia don't. Look, if he wants it to be a surprise, then whatever. That's fine."

"Ohmigod! Sookie, are you actually falling for Mr. Hot Stuff? I mean, not that I blame you but—"

"Oh, puh_leeease_, Ami," I interrupted. "I'm not _that_ stupid. But, no, I think I have been kind of riding him hard," Damn. That wasn't a very wise choice of words. Ignoring Amelia's knowing snickers, I continued. "I do feel bad for being, well, kind of maybe a little bitchy. So … I'm gonna give him the benefit of the doubt. At least for now."

After much heated discussion, and finally settling on an outfit that met Amelia's exacting standards—just barely—I set out the clothes for the next day.

I was just about to hang up with her, when she cornered me.

"So … how do you plan on giving back?"

"Uh… _giving back_?"

"Well, yeah! To your fangirl sistahs, girl!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, lordy. I'm afraid to even ask what you have in mind."

She giggled most mischievously. "Dooood! You've gotta get a spy pic of his fine Ass!"

Now I was the one consumed by uncontrollable laughter. After composing myself, and drying my eyes, I shot her down as gently as I could. But she wasn't having it.

"Come _on_ Sooks! Take one for the team."

I rolled my eyes. "Ami, I can't treat the man like a piece of meat!"

"Why not?" she retorted. "He's grade A prime, girl."

I gave into the giggles again.

"Sook, seriously, it's _eee-_asy," she said, stretching out the word to stress just how easy she thought this was. "You just have to _accidentally_ let something slip out of your hand, preferably next to his feet. Then, when he bends over to pick it, just pick your jaw up off the floor, wipe your drool real quick-like, and snap away."

Amelia's cackles filled my ears as I doubled over with my own side-splitting laughing fit.

* * *

_A/N: So ... where, oh, where will EN be taking Sookie? Hmmm... well, she's not going to google it, but it is a real address, so y'all feel free to ;D Oh, and should she go for the, er, ass shot? Press that green button and let me know :-)  
_

_A/N: Xtra slobbery Nutella kissies to my amazing betas —__** nycsnowbird**__ and __**youbettago**__. There are no words to describe how much I adore my girls! NYC- for spending a few good hours helping me to steer this story back on track. I'd be lost without you! And, YBG-- Eric would never have been able to make it through his emo fit without all of your late night luuurve (and smacks!).*blows kisses* BTW- if you're not yet reading YBG's amazing Saved By the Bus-- Go. Now. I just started reading it-- and it just OWNS me. So adorkably delicious :)  
_

_Any mistakes remaining are purely my own ;p_

_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine._


	11. We've gone plaid

**CHAPTER 10: WE'VE GONE PLAID**

As soon as the driver opened the door, the salty smell of the ocean hit me. Breathing it in deeply, I gathered my belongings, slipping my camera around my shoulder as I stepped out of the car.

I had to steel myself not to physically swoon at the sight before me.

EN was leaning against his Corvette with one knee bent, the foot propped up against the car. The dark-wash jeans looked like they had been designed just for him—clinging ever-so-deliciously to all the right spots. And daaayumn. Those spots. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to remember my Southern manners and not stare. At those spots. Gulp.

Looking up, I noticed that he had on that adorkable plaid shirt he seemed to be so fond of, judging by the amount of photos that were circulating around the internets of him wearing it. I bit back a shy smile as I met his eyes.

_Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea. _It seriously should be a crime for someone to look _so _damn good. In farmer flannel, no less.

And then—he smiled. Not that smug, sly smirk that I had gotten used to seeing. No, a genuine, sweet, full-on smile. It sparkled like goddamn sunshine in his eyes, and revealed the most perfect set of white, even teeth. It made me think of a million mushy clichés, yet somehow, they didn't trigger the gag reflex that they usually did. _Dear lord_. His smile was even more dangerous than that rakish smirk of his. I found myself wishing that there really was a Department of Panty-land Security. If there was, I would most definitely program its hotline into the number one slot on my speed dial.

I snapped out of my haze when he pushed away from his perch and started walking toward me. Forcing as much nervous out of my smile as I could manage, I commanded my own feet to get to stepping.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said in that smooth, husky sex-god voice as he handed me a cup of what I could only assume (and hope) involved a good dose of caffeine.

I eagerly took the proffered cup, trying not to lose myself in those sparkling blues of his. "Mornin' Eric. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"Not at all," he replied.

When I brought the cup to my lips, the unmistakable aroma washed over me. A gasp escaped my lips as my eyes widened. "Is this ..." I couldn't complete the thought, as my eyes almost crossed. I was overwhelmed by the mouthwatering smell of Nutella, mixed with the even more intoxicating scent of EN, with Nutella on his breath.

He shot me another one of those knee-buckling smiles, and lifted his cup up in a toasting gesture. "Oh, yeah."

I took a sip of heaven. "But ... but how?"

"Oh, I make the best Nutella lattes in town," he said with a wink. "I have been assured of this."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, it is ... amazing."

"Glad you like it."

We remained where we were, the only noise that we made was the sipping and occasional appreciative groans/moans as we enjoyed the Northman house special.

Until a loud horn blasted.

"What was _that_?"

"That's our cue. Come on, we'd better get going." He started walking toward the building without even waiting to see if I would follow, and I almost had to run to catch up with him.

He led me through the crowd, until we stopped at some sort of line.

"So, are you gonna tell me where we're going?"

"I suppose I could indulge your curiosity," he said as he extracted two tickets from his pocket. "We're going to Catalina Island."

_Catalina Island?_ I'd never heard of the place, but I had to admit—just the name sounded so beautiful. Wait, there was an island near L.A.? I thought the closest one was Hawaii, and that definitely wasn't a daytrip.

"It should only take about an hour to get there." I smiled at him with relief. It was almost like he could read my mind, but I was still glad to know that it wouldn't be a very long ride.

As we shuffled forward with the line I focused my attention on the delicious Nutella latte, and tried not to focus on the even more delicious EN beside me, and what kind of illegal activities every fangirl out there would be willing to commit in order to spend the day like I was about to.

Hold it together girl. Geesh, you can't melt into a pile of squeeing goo. I took a deep breath and pulled myself together—to the best of my ability, anyways. "So, any particular reason you chose this Catalina Island place?"

"Oh, you mean aside from it being the original Hollywood Riviera, and a popular filming location?"

"Uh, yeah. Aside from that."

"Well, there are a couple of amazing pieces of American architecture that could be great backdrops to our photo shoot."

"Oh." _Oh? _Oh, absolutely brilliant, Sookie! Not only was I unable to come up with a more intelligent response, I was now being reduced to monosyllables. Just great.

I mulled over my utter loss for words in embarrassed silence, and just followed close behind EN as we made our way through the line, and then onto the boat and up the stairs to the second level. I was so busy staring at my feet that I almost bumped into him when he stopped in front of me. As I walked around him, I noticed that he was holding a door open, waiting for me to go into the galley ahead of him. I nodded and mouthed a nearly silent thanks, returning my gaze to the ground as I moved past him.

I froze after a few steps, staring at my surroundings. It seemed that he had purchased us tickets for some sort of private room—seeing as the deck below had been quite crowded, yet this room was totally empty. A soft-cushioned bench wrapped around the walls of one side of the room. The other side of the room featured a kitchenette, complete with a mini-fridge.

The door clicked shut behind us, and he walked past me, flopping down on the seat and flicking his wrist to expose his watch. "We still have a good fifteen minutes before takeoff."

"Oh."

I seated myself across from him, hoping he wouldn't notice that my entire vocabulary had seemed to have dwindled down to that one syllable. Even though I was painfully aware of it—hell, my knuckles were practically piercing through the skin—I still couldn't help myself from gripping the seat so tightly.

He looked from my hands to my face and back again, before scooting over in the seat closer to me. "There's nothing to be nervous about, Sookie. I promised I'd be the perfect gentleman, and I meant every word."

I let out a nervous laugh, and waved him away. "Oh, no, it's not that."

"What is it then?" the look of concern in his eyes seemed genuine. "You're obviously nervous about something."

I stuck my hands in my lap, to avoid the excessive and almost painful clutching of the seat. Keeping my eyes averted, I admitted that I wasn't crazy about the idea of a boat ride. While I'd never actually been on a boat before, it creeped me out just like airplanes did. "I guess there's just something about traveling so fast without actually moving your own feet. It just seems unnatural, y'know?" I mumbled.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to find a way to distract you then, huh?"

I smiled at his playful suggestion, feeling the muscles of shoulders relax, even if just by a minuscule degree. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

His concerned smile broke into the most adorable grin—like a child who'd just gotten permission to go out and play with his friends. I was struck by how young it made him look, while still somehow upping the devastating hunko-meter quotient.

"Well, we could start with some liquid courage," he said with an eyebrow wiggle. He walked over to the kitchenette, returning with a carafe and two glasses. Sitting down beside me, he set the items down on the table and began to pour a glass of the orange-colored liquid. I swallowed hard as I watched him, his hand enveloping and dwarfing the carafe.

"Uh, orange juice?" I asked, accepting the extended glass.

"No, much yummier than that."

He said yummier! I tried not to bounce around and giggle like a schoolgirl at a slumber party. As I took a small sniff, my mouth watered and eyes widened. It smelled like yet another sinfully delicious concoction, and my senses went on overdrive as I tried to place the blend of flavors.

"It's a mimosa with a twist," he explained as he poured some for himself. "Mimosas are classically made with just plain orange juice, but this is a mixture of peach and pineapple juice. The orange slices add just enough of an orange flavor to remind you of your mother's mimosa, without overpowering the more exotic flavors."

I clamped my mouth shut. Was this guy a closet gourmet chef? Like he needed anything else to make him perfect. "Sounds and smells incredible," I gushed, raising my glass in a toasting gesture. "But … did your mother really make you mimosas?"

I took a large sip of the drink, hoping that if my mouth was full it would at least slow down the bout of verbal diarrhea that seemed to have suddenly infected me. It was just a saying, of course. Still, I couldn't shake the image of a young and adorable EN, sitting at the breakfast table holding up a fork and knife, about to dig in to a mile-high stack of pancakes, with a doting mother topping off his mimosa.

But when that heavenly concoction filled my mouth, I was powerless to stop the deep moan of pure pleasure that escaped my lips.

He leaned back with his arm resting against the back of the seat, satisfaction tugging his lips into a lopsided grin. "Glad you like it."

At that point, the horn blasted again, making the floor practically rumble with the vibrations of the ship's engine, before beginning to move. My free hand flew back to the seat, clutching at the edge with almost homicidal force. I downed the rest of the drink with one gulp.

He reached for the carafe and refilled my glass with practiced ease. "Relax, Sookie." His glance fluttered down to my hand, before returning to my face. "I mean, these seats are made of superior materials and construction, as they were made in Norway, but there's only so much abuse even the strongest can take."

I laughed and loosened my grip just a tiny bit. "Really? They were made in Norway?"

"Yeah, the seating for this entire vessel were commissioned from a company called Eknes. They make the highest quality airline seats in the world." He delivered this last of this statement with a significant eyebrow waggle.

I was beginning to wonder if the man did special exercises to keep up the strength of his eyebrow muscles. If they had Olympics for eyebrow waggles and raises, he'd win hands down.

"Is that so?" I teased. My grip was loosening by the second, and I couldn't be entirely certain if it was that I was getting used to the movement of the ferry, or if it was the highly distracting company. "But, wait a minute, aren't you from Sweden?"

He grinned. "Yes, well … I can still have brotherly love for our Scandinavian neighbors. And I can appreciate a good thing when I see it."

I snorted, and let go of my security blanket, letting my hand rest beside me on the seat. We both watched the water glide past us as we sipped on our drinks.

The rest of the ride passed very quickly. It was certainly the shortest hour I could ever remember experiencing.

* * *

After docking, Eric led me along the harbor. As we walked, I noticed a massive, round building that we seemed to be heading toward. Well, it was hard not to notice it—it dominated the entire area, as it sat at the point where the bay stretched the farthest into the ocean, surround by water on three sides.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

His words awoke me from my reverie, and I found myself facing a soft, dreamy smile that matched my own.

"Is that where we're going?" I breathed as I returned my gaze to the building.

"Yes. It's the casino. Just wait till you get to see the view from the top. It's breathtaking"

We started walking again. As we rounded the bend of the coastline, my fingers twitched where they grasped the camera. I cocked my head and looked up at EN, trying to assess him. I really wanted to stop and take a few shots, but, as much as he may have tried to assure me otherwise, I couldn't quite buy the fact that he wouldn't be bored, standing around and waiting for me to finish.

His gaze shifted to mine. He halted in mid-step, and just stood in silence, waiting.

"What?" I asked.

"Go ahead. I know you want to." He said with a wink.

I snickered as I reached for my camera, and peeked at the scene in front of me through the viewfinder. After I got my shot, I turned to him to indicate that we could continue on our way, but he crossed his arms and practically dug his heels in.

"Oh, come on, that couldn't have possibly been it."

I stared at him with disbelief. "You really don't mind just standing around waiting?"

"But I'm not just standing around waiting, I get to watch." He said with another wink. I swear, the man could not complete a sentence without some sort of sexual innuendo. "But, if you'd like to sweeten the deal for me, maybe we could make a deal."

"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"Tell me what you see."

A tiny frisson shimmered down my spine as I struggled not to fall into his intense gaze. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"When your hand reaches for your camera, just tell me what you see that makes you click that shutter."

I stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. I was puzzled by the emotion that crossed his face; I just couldn't place it. All sound dropped away except the loud hammering of my own heart, as I tried to figure it out. If I had to put my finger on it, I would almost say it was longing, or … even wistfulness. I smiled and agreed with a nod of my head and mumbled an "Okay."

Walking through the casino with my own personal Viking tour guide was pretty darn great. His knowledge of the building's history was impressive, but even more so was his understanding of the finer points of art deco design and architecture. He allowed me absolute control of the pace as we explored the theater and mezzanine levels. I lost myself behind my camera, becoming fully absorbed in the brilliant marriage of architectural space with the vivid color and pattern that was classic deco style. As I snapped away, EN seemed to sense exactly what had captured my attention, so that he told me about the mural surrounding the theater screen as I was focusing on it, prompting me then to explain what, in particular, drew my eye to it. I was both surprised and grateful, because I would never have been able to articulate my vision as well as I did without his lead.

"So, is the actual casino upstairs?" I asked as we made our way to the top level.

"Actually, no," he chuckled. "This is probably the only casino in the U.S. without gambling. It is actually derived from the Italian word for place of gathering. The last level is a ballroom."

Any embarrassment that I had felt disappeared when we entered the ballroom. The sun streamed in through the windows that lined the walls, filling the room with dramatic light, from the gleaming wood floors all the way up to what had to be at least a fifty foot ceiling. The perfectly circular shape of the building was accentuated here, more than in any of the other rooms we'd visited.

I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding and spun around to face Eric, who was grinning from ear to ear. Grabbing my hand, he dragged me with him, leading us out to the balcony.

"Wow." There really were no other words. The ocean below stretched in all directions, the line where it met the blue of the sky almost indistinguishable. The bright white of the building stood out in perfect contrast to the blue that surrounded us.

"Indeed," he answered.

* * *

As we began our trek inland to find a good spot for lunch, he looked back at the casino one last time. He met my gaze for a brief moment before turning away, staring straight ahead. "It _is_ too bad we had to leave."

I examined his profile, puzzled at the sheer disappointment in his tone. "Why, is there a good band playing tonight or somethin'?"

"No," he breathed. "It's just that I laid eyes on the most beautiful thing I've ever seen on that balcony."

"Oh, yeah … the ocean?"

"No, not the ocean." I was almost knocked back by the stunning, genuine smile that covered his face. It made his eyes somehow bluer.

When the words finally sunk in, I blushed so deeply that I thought my cheeks might literally burn off. I was relieved when he looked away with a chuckle and quickened his step.

After a quick lunch, he led me through the bustling town, now teeming with throngs of eager tourists to the nearest golf cart rental. When we stopped in front of a bench, he put his hand to the small of my back and gently guided me toward it. "Why don't you wait here for me? I'm going to go rent us that cart."

I settled myself on the bench, stifling a giggle as I imagined how he was going to fit his very large frame into one of those golf carts that we'd seen as we walked through town, wondering if they come in special big and tall sizes.

As I looked around, I noticed an elderly couple standing a few feet away. The man accepted the white furry bundle which the woman handed to him with great care, and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "Okay, we'll be right here, dear," he said in a voice weathered by decades of happiness. She gave him a light peck on the cheek before pulling away, with one last glance. As she turned around, he gave her a light love smack, and she practically skipped away with a grin on her face.

I watched her until she disappeared into a store front on the other side of the street. When my eyes returned to the man, he winked at me. I couldn't help but smile.

He moved toward the bench and motioned with his hand, asking for permission to sit. I nodded my head in silent agreement, and scooted over a little to give him plenty of room.

"Your dog is adorable," I said as I busied my hands with my camera.

"She is a sweetheart," he replied, scratching the floppy little ear of the poodle. "She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Oh?" I was thinking the man could not be more adorable.

He grabbed the little pooch and placed her on his lap. "Yes, I get to sit outside in the warm sun while the missus goes off and does the shopping. Ever since this little lady came into my life," he paused to rub the belly of the very appreciative 'little lady', "I haven't had to hold my wife's purse once."

We both laughed. A few minutes later, I felt him straighten next to me. I glanced over and saw him pick up the dog so that she was eye level with him. "Well that was quick," he cooed to her. She gave him an excited bark before he put her down, and rose to his feet just his wife reached our side of the street.

The dog bounced around their feet, wagging its tail with enthusiasm as the wife complained about the store being sorely lacking in anything worthy of even trying on. But the way he looked at her as she went on—it was clear that these two ladies were his world. I discreetly snapped a few shots, hoping they wouldn't mind that I wanted to capture this intimate scene.

They both looked in my direction, blinking as they realized that I had stolen their moment. I usually didn't have the guts to take pictures of strangers like this—I felt like it was an intrusion of some sorts. But as I held my breath, anticipating the woman to yell at me for my rudeness, I was shocked when she just nodded and smiled. Then, she reached her hand up to cup her husband's cheek, and he returned his full attention to her. Her smile was the picture of contentment and bliss, and I snapped one last, quick shot.

I almost jumped when I felt a very large hand grasp my shoulder.

"Ready?" EN asked, his voice coming from somewhere just above and behind me. I twisted my head, and was glad to be sitting down. He looked like an angel with his golden mane silhouetted by the blue sky, the sun behind him making it look like a halo floating around his perfect face, a broad smile making his piercing blue eyes sparkle.

Blink. Gape. Swallow. "Uh, yeah. Sure." I jumped to my feet as he moved around the bench to my side and motioned with his head to where I could only assume our chariot awaited. As I followed him, I heard the couple call out a goodbye behind us.

I looked back and smiled at them, waving.

They both waved back, like the most adorable doting grandparents.

When I turned back to Eric, he was staring at me with an amused smirk. "Making friends already?"

I snickered. "Yeah, that old man was _very_ friendly."

"I don't blame him," he said with a wink, before leading me to our ride.

He helped me into my seat and then walked over to his side. When he got in, he produced a pair of leather driving gloves. I stared with a mixture of shock and amusement as he slipped them on, his knuckles poking through four perfectly spaced holes as he fastened the buttons across his wrists.

I thought he was ready after he flexed his fingers, testing out the fit, but no. Next, he reached took out a hat. As he placed it on his head, I noticed that it was a beret in a blue and black plaid that should have totally clashed with the red and black combo of the plaid on his shirt, yet somehow it didn't. Maybe it was the fuzzy ball on top that distracted from the fashion faux pas. I guess it was so wrong, that it was right.

He threaded his fingers together and extended them, cracking his knuckles, as he turned the full power of the EN gaze onto me. "Ready?"

I snorted. "Are you?"

He didn't say a word. Just gave me his trademark wink, and placed his arm behind my seat, twisting around in his seat as he backed out of the parking space.

As soon as we got onto the main road—if you could call it that—Eric started huffing impatiently and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. And then, all hell broke loose. He revved the engine (I wasn't even aware golf carts had enough of an engine _to_ rev) and began to weave through the traffic, like some sort of possessed race car driver. Except, he wasn't driving a race car, he was driving a golf cart, which didn't even qualify as a backwoods inbred cousin of any race car. I felt like I had fallen down the rabbit hole, and had ended up in some bizarre real-life Mario Kart, gone way, way wrong.

I asked him to cool his engine (very politely I might add!), but he just gave me a devious grin and sped up. Well, at least it was Mario Kart and not Grand Theft Auto, I mused as I grabbed for anything I could lay my hands on to steady myself.

The ocean soon disappeared from our sight, and we were surrounded by mountains. We parked on the side of the road right before it tapered off into a dirt path. Picking our way through the botanical garden—with my knowledgeable tour guide pointing out items of interest, of course—we headed toward the Wrigley monument, which towered over the garden, like some sort of mystical Mayan temple, complete with vine-encrusted walls surrounding it.

When we reached the terrace, I was once again blown away, not only by the breathtaking view of the bay, but also by the beautiful structure which, in its own unique way, complimented and stood against its surroundings.

There were plenty of angles and lines, patterns and textures that caught my eye, and I lost track of time as I snapped away, pausing only to explain to EN what had caught my interest.

When I was done, we found a spot on the terrace to rest before heading back. I leaned back on my palms and shut my eyes, enjoying the warm but weak sunshine on my face.

EN interrupted the silence after a few very short moments. "So, can I ask you something?"

I opened my eyes halfway and looked at him. "Go ahead, shoot."

"Do you enjoy taking photos of places or people more?"

"Hmm," I tapped my finger to my lips. "I like both for different reasons I guess, but people definitely hold my interest longer."

"Why?"

"Well, I guess if I had to put my finger on it, what really catches my attention is light, and the way it leads your eye."

I paused for a moment as I considered. "I mean, take landscapes, for example: it's the movement that certain lines or patterns create that attracts the eye, but it's the light that actually creates all those lines and patterns. So, I can definitely find plenty of interesting shots of places, but with people—well, it's just different."

I sat in silence for a moment, pondering how to put it to explain it better, and EN sat beside me patiently. I very much appreciated the fact that it was pretty clear he was interested in a more detailed explanation, but he wasn't going to push for it, either. It made me search for those words even harder.

"Okay, I guess the only way I can think of explaining it is that with places, it's like the light illuminates the subject, but with people the light is _in_ them, it reflects from them." I smacked my forehead and then buried my face in my hands, mumbling more to myself than to him. "Ugh. I can't explain it."

He chuckled beside me. "No, no. You're doing fine. I totally know what you mean."

I raised my head to look at him. While the corner of his mouth was still turned up with the remnants of a smile, his eyes held an intensity that told me that he wasn't just humoring me.

I straightened up, and turned the tables on him with my own question.

"What catches _your_ attention about a photograph, Eric? Or, I guess, any piece of art for that matter?"

His answer came with a speed and sureness that surprised me. "Life."

I raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

He smiled and his eyes went somewhere else for a minute. "When the artist manages to capture the pulse, you know, when you stand in front of it and feel, not just see."

"Wow. Deep." I said with a shy smile, playfully clutching at my chest. I was relieved when he broke out into laughter, and was only too happy to join him.

* * *

When we got back to the golf cart, he turned to face me with an expectant look. "So, where to now? We still have a couple of hours until our ferry ride back."

"Oh, I don't know, what are our options?"

"Hmm, let's see. Well, we could go to the zoo."

I did a double take. "Uh, the zoo?"

He chuckled. "Oh, yeah. There's a bison farm we could go check out. Or, we could head back into town, maybe grab some ice cream before catching the ferry back."

"Isn't it a little cold for ice cream, Eric?"

He mock gasped. "Blasphemy! It is never too cold for ice cream!"

I grinned back at him. I'd never admit that that was totally a test, and he had just passed with flying colors. Although it was a sunny spring day, the air did still have a chilly edge to it, especially now in the late afternoon. But, I myself had always been of the strict belief that it can never be too cold for ice cream. Heck, I'd bundle up with mittens and a wool scarf before I would say no to some ice cream.

The drive back down was a lot more relaxed, even though he still drove like a bat out of hell—well, as much as possible for a golf cart, that is.

After settling on sharing a banana split, we were able to find a fairly private seat. He set the massive sundae on the table between us, and we both dug in. After a few moments of silent eating, punctuated only by appreciative moans, he spoke. "So, do you think either of those spots would work well as a backdrop for our photo shoot?"

"Hmm?" I looked at him, trying to figure out what exactly he was talking about as the exquisite ice cream occupied the majority of my senses.

"The casino and Wrigley monument—did you get any good shots?"

"Oh! Yeah, I think I did …." I trailed off, taking the camera off my neck and switching it on so we could take a look at the photos I'd taken. "But, honestly, Eric, I thought they were really beautiful, but I just don't know …."

He stuck his spoon in the ice cream pitchfork-style, and turned his full attention to me. "What?"

"Do you want me to take a picture of you, or the place?" When I saw his crestfallen face, I tried another avenue. "Uh, well, what I mean is, you know my portraits are not these stylized, glamour photo shoot types. It's about the person, it's where they're _home_."

His eyes glinted with mischief. "Oh, I see. I see. Well, I normally don't allow people into my inner sanctum. Only a very select few. But, if you wanted to see my home so much, all you had to do was ask, Sookie." He added a trademark wink.

I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't necessarily have to be _your_ home, Eric, just where you _feel_ at home."

He scooped up a heaping spoonful of ice cream. "Hmm, okay. I do see your point."

I gaped as he opened his mouth entirely too wide, before closing it around the spoon. _I _had to force my attention back to my own spoon._ Damn lucky spoon._

After we polished off the ice cream, I stared in disbelief at the empty dish. It didn't seem quite as large without the ice cream in it, but I remembered just how high that ice cream was piled on, only a short while ago. I slowly raised my eyes, and when I met Eric's gaze we both burst into peals of laughter.

We headed back toward the ferry dock on foot. Somehow, the walk seemed much shorter than before.

"Oh!" I said, just as we reached the boarding area. "I should probably call the driver now, so he'll know to pick me up soon."

I reached for my purse, but was startled when Eric's hand reached out to cover both of mine, stilling them. I glanced up at him with a questioning look.

He let go and laughed nervously. _EN nervous? Huh?_ "Uh, well, I was wondering if you had any dinner plans?"

I could feel the sheepish almost-painful grin that stretched my lips from ear to ear, but was powerless to stop it. "Uh, dinner?" I squirmed. "Oh, uh … I think I've already eaten enough today for about a week!"

Now it was my turn to laugh nervously. When he didn't say anything back, and the silence crept into awkward territory, I tried desperately to find something to fill it. "Well, uh—" I stammered, "I was just gonna relax back at the apartment, maybe have a frozen pizza, or something."

His eyes brightened. "Well, since we both have to eat … we may as well do it together, right?"

Narrowing my eyes, I studied him. I _had_ really enjoyed the day with him, and not just because he was hotter-than-hell EN. No, I found that I actually enjoyed the (platonic!) company of Eric. But I wondered if he was now asking for a dinner companion or a date?

"We are going to have to hammer out the details of our arrangement, anyways."

I snorted. That EN, he did seem to have a gift for word choice. But, his statement did put an abrupt halt to my hemming and hawing. "Yeah, I guess we do."

* * *

_A/N: Ginormous hugs n' smooches to my amazing betas —__** nycsnowbird**__ and __**youbettago**__. I heart you. HAAAAARD.__ Any mistakes remaining are purely my own ;p Oh, and a special thanks to Suki59 for pre-reading from an L.A. point of view. *blows Nutella kissies*  
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_Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine._


	12. Everything Butt the

_A/N: Okay, so before this chappie, I just wanted to say that I adore and pore over every single review, and I so appreciate every story alert and favorite you add. I know I've been just terrible about replying to you guys, but every time I'm about to, I figure you guys would probably prefer if I spent that time on the next update. So, please keep 'em coming! They are my writing V. Enjoy :)_

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**CHAPTER 11: EVERYTHING BUTT THE…**

_Sometimes I do get to places just when God's ready to have somebody click the shutter._

_~Ansel Adams_

* * *

_**Sookie**_

"So, Italian then?"

"Yup," I replied as I put on the seatbelt.

Well, it was between French and Italian, and I loathed French restaurants. They were so pretentious. Only French restaurants were foo-foo enough to actually not translate their menus into English, and staffed with waiters who actually looked forward to you not being able to order.

Oh, okay, I'll admit it—I might be slightly biased when it came to French restaurants. After all, my very first date was at one—or rather, non-date. I should have suspected something right from the start, when the reigning prom king asked me out on a date. But when JB du Rone didn't show, leaving me to sit all by lonesome at Chez Bellefleur for a couple of extremely embarrassing hours, I developed a very strong distaste for escargot as well as the snooty waiters who peddled them.

But try as I might on the way there, EN refused to give me any clue as to where we were going, aside from a very cryptic assurance that I would enjoy the meal.

Arriving and entering the restaurant was a bit cloak and dagger. I mean, I'd heard of the things stars did to avoid being spotted, but having never actually experienced anything like it, well—it was kind of hard not to laugh.

First, EN swerved into a dark, poorly-lit alley without so much as slowing down, causing me to clutch at the door and shut my eyes. When we pulled up to an abrupt stop, I peeked through one eye, only to find ourselves in some sort of back parking lot. He was at my door before my eyes had even adjusted to the light (or rather, lack thereof), and led me inside. We rushed through an empty hallway and a bustling kitchen. He didn't even wait for anyone to seat us—just barreled through the dining room and led us to a booth at the back corner. It was probably the farthest table from the front doors, and the most secluded.

I stared across the table at him, eyes wide with disbelief. It felt like we had made our crazy entrance in the span of one breath, if that. "What, no blindfold?"

He grinned. "Nah, I trust you."

My retort was cut short by the arrival of our waiter and menus. I followed Eric's advice and ordered the mushroom ravioli. He went with the lasagna.

To say that both dinner and the company were extremely delicious would be the understatement of the year. Possibly the century.

I looked up at him with a mouthful of moan-inducing ravioli, when I momentarily froze at the sight of EN eating Lasagna.

The cheese hung in gooey strings from the fork as he lifted it. I followed the path of the lasagna-loaded fork as he moved it to his mouth, watching it slip between those perfect lips. When his tongue darted out to grab the string of cheesy goodness that stuck to his lips, I had to bite down on my lip to keep from mirroring the gesture with my own tongue and moaning way too loud.

I was vaguely aware that his lips were now moving—most likely forming words—but my lust-haze prevented me from actually connecting sound to meaning.

"Highly impressed … Innate ability… Connect to subjects …"

God dammit. He's obviously trying to have a serious grown-up conversation, and all you can do is stare and drool! SNAP OUT OF IT, GIRL!

I was finally able to scold myself into shaking off the EN-daze and return to the real world.

I was able to piece together that he was now talking about the shots I'd taken of that older couple, which had seemed to particularly impress him earlier.

After returning from Catalina, we were able to find a nice, comfortable spot on the nearby beach to look through the photos. I had given myself a congratulatory slap on the back for going with a digital camera for the day—I usually opted for the old fashioned film camera, unless I knew that I would purely be taking snapshots. Eric seemed perfectly content to look through the photos. And, if it wasn't for that, I really couldn't fathom how else we would have killed those couple of hours before dinnertime.

I forced my attention back to him now, as his gaze seemed to grow even more intense.

"… I think that is what I find so intriguing about your work. And being able to observe you first hand ..." He was scratching at the stubble on his cheek, and it was almost as if he was talking more to himself than to me. But then he looked like he suddenly realize what he had been doing, and broke out in a self-conscious grin. "I am more fascinated than ever. It just seems to be instinctual, almost unconscious."

I was caught in his piercing stare, almost as if he really was trying to penetrate me from across the table. My throat began to feel extremely dry. I swallowed hard, just trying to figure out what to say. Well, really, _anything_ to say. Anything would be better than staring at him like a damn moron, mouth agape and doe-eyed.

"Uh … Wow. I—I do appreciate that Eric. Really I do." _Oh, brilliant, Sookie. Just Brilliant._ When had I turned into a stammering, blubbering idiot?

Drawing an absolute blank on the witty and adorable column, I tried for deep and soulful, but came up with heave-inducing cheese instead. "I guess I look for truth in my subjects ... for their light. Ugh, that sounds so hokey." I resisted the urge to smack my forehead, opting to just turn my eyes away from the horrendous pileup of lame. I sounded like a stupid hallmark card, or even worse, one of those sentimental puke-fest photo books about friendship or happiness.

He reached out for my hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of my palm in a gesture that was meant to send reassurance, but only made me gulp hard as I once again found myself ogling his ginormous hands.

After a very long moment of indulging my hand-porn fantasies, I raised my eyes to his with a small smile. "That's why I've mostly photographed people who I know really well. I just can't get a good feel for someone unless I get to really know them."

I was both surprised and pleased at how comfortable I had become with him. I'd meant to share an important aspect of my work with him with my little confession, but as soon as the words left my mouth, they just made me realize all the reasons why I couldn't say yes to his offer of employment—no matter how great of an opportunity it might be. "I can't do this in a day with you, Eric."

He whispered my name in that husky sex-voice of his, with a longing reverence that gave me the courage to meet his eyes again.

The trademark EN panty-scorching smirk was on full display, before he leaned forward and winked at me. "That could be easily remedied."

I yanked my hand away. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. I'd love to spend a few days with you."

"Uh huh. I'm sure you would." I snapped back with an eye roll to match.

His smile transformed from predatory to sweet. "Oh, Sookie, Sookie, Sookie. It would appear that you are running out of excuses here. I _will_ be on my best behavior." I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to see if he had his fingers crossed behind his back. He continued, all innocence and puppy eyes. "All I'm proposing is that you shadow me for a few days. It could be like one of those day-in-the-life things."

I snickered. "Oh, you mean study the animal in its natural habitat?"

"Something like that. You know, there are many out there who would pay a small fortune for such an opportunity."

I snorted. Seriously, I wasn't sure how it was physically possible that his head hadn't exploded yet. I mean, he was probably right, but that's beside the point.

"What? It's true. You want a list of those that already have? Hmm … let's see … Vogue, Vanity Fair, GQ ... and that was just for a few hours of my time."

I rolled my eyes. _A small fortune my hiney. _"And how much exactly did they pay for the _privilege _of featuring you in their magazine?" I sneered. Of course, I tried not to think of the swoonlicious spreads he had referred to, all of which I knew entirely too well. No need to pump up that overgrown ego even more.

He pretended to examine his fingernails, like the damn prima donna that he was. "Oh, I don't kiss and tell."

I was quite certain that there had to be steam coming out of my ears . In fact, I was more than a little surprised that I wasn't hearing that teakettle whistling sound.

With impeccable timing, the waiter stopped by our table and asked if we would be needing anything else before depositing the check.

EN picked up one of those cellophane-wrapped toothpicks, unwrapped it leisurely as if he knew I was watching him, and stuck it in his mouth before breaking into a grin. I cursed myself as I was fixated by his mouth, unable to tear my gaze from it to meet his eyes. It was just so... UNNNNNNGH; the tiny sliver of wood hung precariously from where it was clenched between his perfect, white teeth, tapping the soft curve of his lip every so often, and leading my eye to the rough stubble that peppered his face. I felt my panties incinerate as my eyes involuntarily travelled to the little cleft in his chin, which the stubble seemed to favor, growing much thicker and longer there. Seriously, Sookie? Get a hold of yourself, and your girlbits, I scolded myself, and thought that if I was going to be exposed to any more EN hotness, maybe some playtime with my new toy would be required. Barring an intervention from the Department of Panty-land Security, that is.

He grabbed the toothpick with his all too edible fingers, and licked his lips suggestively. "Sookie? You still with me?"

The coy maneuver was thankfully enough to snap me out of my fangirl lust haze. "Wh-what?"

"Well? What do you say?"

Heh. Good question. What do I say? Hmmm ... I took a sip of my water, my mind racing for an appropriate answer. What was the question again? Dammit. Setting the glass back down, I straightened my shoulders and raised my chin. "Okay. No funny business?"

He chuckled and placed his hand over his heart—his right hand, I suppose, but I was in no shape to tell sides from across the table. "Cross my heart."

Damn, no more excuses. But, do I get any lifelines? I let out a heaving sigh. "Honestly, Eric. I don't know. This is all moving a bit too fast for me."

His smile faded, just a little bit. He stuck the toothpick back in his mouth and pulled out his wallet. I saw my exit and I dashed for it, making my cowardly escape while he busied himself with choosing a plastic form of payment and placing it in the appropriate slot.

"Will you excuse me for a moment, Eric? I have to freshen up."

He nodded without looking up at me, occupied with his task for the moment. "Yeah, I'll be right here."

I was relieved to find that I had the bathroom all to myself. Splashing some water on my face, I stared at myself in the mirror and tried to calm down, but my breath sped up instead.

Yup, I definitely needed to use one of my lifelines. _Regis, I'd like to call a friend, please_.

I pulled out my phone but my fingers froze before I could text Amelia, and I just stared at my screensaver. I could still remember the insane buzz all over the internet when this picture of EN had first come out—it was for some magazine, and had featured a drenched EN, the water dripping from his lips and stubbly jaw making him extra edible. Well, there was definitely a spike in panty sales that week.

As I drooled over the swoontastic screensaver, realization mowed me over like a gazillion crazy, screaming, preteen twi-hoors at an RPatz sighting. What the hell was I doing? I mean, I had fantasized, like any other self respecting fangirl, of meeting EN. Well, okay, maybe I'd fantasized about an Erikson bro-wich, but hey, they weren't actually real, as much as we all may wish that to be the case.

And now Mr. Nookie himself was asking me to spend a few days with him, and I run to the hills? Why couldn't I say yes? To Eric fucking Northman! And why on earth was I still hiding out in the bathroom?

I took a deep breath, dropping my phone back into my purse and squaring my shoulders. You can do this girl—hell, you've _gotta_ do this. This career opportunity itself was beyond amazing; spending some very up close and personal one-on-one time with EN? Well, that was just icing on the cake. And, I did have an epic sweet tooth.

I let out a heavy sigh as I stared at his back while approaching our table, trying to squelch my nerves.

He smiled sweetly at me when I joined him. "So, where were we?"

But just as I was opening my mouth to speak, the final stake in my coffin of mortification was nailed firmly into place—courtesy of my best bud Amelia, of course.

_I'll be there…__ when your fangs start to show …_

_Shiiiit._

I knew that the ringtone would only grow louder, so I opened up my purse and reached for the phone. Of course, the next line played even louder, in those horribly long moments before I could find the blasted thing and shut it off.

_I'll be there for you, since we're brothers, you know …_

My hands seemed to move in slow motion, but finally, I was able to turn the volume onto vibrate.

My cheeks grew ever hotter in the silence that followed. I didn't need to look up to see the smirk that must have been plastered all over Eric's face; I could hear it in his voice.

"So, what ringtone shall we program for me?" When I looked up, his eyes were doing the goddamn river-dance. "I only want to make certain that when I call, you'll know it isn't a prank call."

"Hmm… oh, how about You're So Gay?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "Yeah, I was thinking more along the lines of Paparazzi," he said, and then, to my complete and utter horror, he began to sing. "You know—I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me—"

"Do you need a papa-papa-pap-smear?" I sneered, interrupting his little impromptu performance. "Seriously, Eric, I know you were in the video and all, but aren't you embarrassed at all that you actually know the lyrics?"

We both doubled over with laughter.

"Well, I will leave the music selection to you, then." Eric said after our laughter had subsided. "But, I am still waiting for an answer."

"Yeah," I agreed as I wiped the tears from my eyes. He kept his stare on me, raising an eyebrow. I guess I hadn't really made it clear which question I was answering. "I mean, yes. It's a deal. I guess I'd be crazy to say no, right?"

His eyes danced with laughter, but he refrained from answering. "Okay, great. Let me drive you home, then."

I was going to protest, and say that I could call the driver, whom Pam had insisted was at my disposal any time of the day or night—but it was kind of late. Besides, I figured it would be a show of good faith not to put up a fight on this one.

We had just gotten onto the highway when my phone began to vibrate. I rolled my eyes. Damn. The girl was persistent, if nothing else.

I gritted my teeth at the sight of the G Chat popup window. I hated using G Chat on my phone. Amelia was well aware; if I didn't know any better, I'd swear she was doing it to get under my skin. I couldn't help but smile, though, when I saw her one-word plea.

_**Amelia**__: Sooooooo???_

Ugh. The girl had less than zero patience. I could only imagine how hard it must have been for her to hold out for this long.

_**Me**__: On way back now. _

The reply was almost instant.

_**Amelia**__: And? _

I turned to look at EN. He took his eyes off the road for a moment and smiled at me.

"Sorry," I gave him an apologetic grin. "It's just my friend Amelia."

He shrugged and then made a motion with his hand for me to continue as his attention returned to the road.

My lips curled into a smirk, thinking of the perfect way to torture Amelia.

_**Me**__: Sitting next to EN now …_

_**Amelia**__: Aaaaaaand?_

_**Me**__: Aaaaaaand what?_

_Amelia is typing … and typing …_

_**Amelia**__: What's the sit-rep on operation ass pic, hitman?_

Oh, crap. I had been putting it off all day … and night. The window of opportunity was closing, and fast.

I quickly typed in my reply.

_**Me**__: Just keep your fangirl panties on. Will report when there's something to report. _

I sent it off, but then had to bite my lip to prevent myself from cracking up when I thought of a perfect (though super corny) follow-up.

_**Me**__: Butt out!_

With that, I tossed the phone back into my purse, hoping that she'd take the not-so-subtle hint and back off. Thankfully, she did, and the rest of the ride was spent sans-vibrating interruptions.

I was grateful that Eric didn't try to make any conversation, while I racked my brain for a workable plan. So, you can imagine my relief when he insisted on walking me in. I feigned a weak protest, happy that he didn't go for it.

I dug in my purse for my keys as we began to walk toward the building. My shoulders heaved with a sigh of resignation as I committed to my course of action. Tightening my hands around the keys, I finally looked up, only to be startled by Eric, standing a short distance in front of me. His eyebrows quirked from a look of curiosity.

I smiled to reassure him. "Found 'em," I yelled out a bit too loudly, jingling my newly-acquired treasure in the air with exaggeration before letting them 'accidentally' fly out of my grasp, with what I hoped was a believable, yet not too eager "whoopsies."

I watched the keys sail through the air and land on the ground just past him, thankful that my aim was just right. It was very close though. If he hadn't had super-human reflexes (like the god that he was, of course) and flinched back a little, they would have bonked him straight on the forehead. _Whoopsies, indeed._

"Wow, I didn't realize it would be so dangerous to be around you," he quipped, reaching his hand up to scratch at the back of his head in that adorable confused/amused pose of his. I merely grinned my apology and shrugged as I stuck my hand in my purse and grasped the phone tightly, while I waited for him to do the gentlemanly thing and bend down to pick up the keys.

And, with a wink, he bit. Hook, line and sinker. I had my fangirl spy-cam out in the next second, and was able to snap away at just the right moment for optimum ass exposure.

The flash lit up the night. _Craaaaaaap. _

Feeling the heat instantly coloring my cheeks, I stuffed the phone back in my purse and tried to convince myself it wasn't as noticeable as I thought it was—that it was just nerves coloring my perception. But when I finally dared to look up, I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no such luck. He dangled the prized keys above his head, that familiar smug smirk returning to his lips, making his eyes sparkle even in the darkness of the night. Oh, but this certainly wasn't the innocent sunshine sparkle I had glimpsed earlier. No siree. There was absolutely nothing innocent about him at the moment.

"Well, Sookie, these don't seem so slippery," he purred. "I can only assume then, that it's your hands that are slippery?"

I felt my blush spread to the very tip of my toes._ Shit. Shit. Shit. _What do I say? What _can _I say?_ Damn. Damn. Damn._

He made a tsk, tsk sound as the smirk spread to an all out grin. "Oh, Sookie. Well, I must say—it _is _a good thing that you're such a talented photographer—you'd never make it as a paparazzi."

He laughed at his own joke entirely too much for my own comfort level. "Hardy har har." I snapped, backing away as he advanced toward me.

Unfortunately, his car was not far behind us. I could practically feel the trap looming upon me; soon I would run out of back-up space, and not having a visual of how much room I had to work with made my pulse race that much more. Suddenly, I felt a very strong kinship to mice.

"Well, come on then ... let's have it," he made a come-hither gesture with his hands, and I cursed myself for all the ways my body betrayed me at the sight of those damn hands. And fingers. Very, very long fingers. Yikes. Yahoo. Yum.

"Uh ... what?" I mumbled, shaking my head to snap myself out of the lust-haze.

And with a dull yet resounding thud, I was finally done for. I pressed myself in utter futility against the car as he drew closer. And closer. And ... even closer. When he tried reaching for my purse, I finally regained my senses. Or voice, at least. "No way, Jose! Keep your grubby little hands off!" Well, not really little, by any means. But, whatever.

He raised a questioning eyebrow, as he placed an arm on each side of me, preventing any hope I'd had of an escape. "Well, Miss Stackhouse," he said, his face only inches from mine. "We certainly do have a problem here."

I swallowed hard, and forced myself to meet his gaze. "We do, Mr. Northman?"

"I would most certainly say so. Well, I can't very well let you keep this picture. These things have a way of getting into the wrong hands, as I'm sure you're aware of."

The silence was static with electricity. The air between us (what little of it there was, that is) was practically humming with it.

"Uh... I suppose you're right. So ... what do you suggest we do about it?" I asked all innocent-like, looking up at him through my lashes, and throwing in the sweetest smile I could muster.

"Yes, that is the question. What shall we do?" He let the question hang in the air until it picked up the requisite drama quotient. "Well, first I suggest that you tell me why you attempted the spy pic. I mean, if you wanted a picture ... all you had to do was ask," he threw in an eyebrow waggle.

I looked down, embarrassment coloring my cheeks an even deeper shade, and ignored his chuckles. The words flew out of my mouth before I could chide myself for my lack of filter. "Uh ... IkindapromisedAmeliaI'dgetabuttshot."

He threw his head back and laughed, his shoulders shaking. I was almost tempted to kick him, and his smug ass, but I was too mesmerized by the delicious view that this vantage point offered of his neck, with his Adam's apple bobbing. So, I just stood there and stared, until he composed himself. His eyes burned into me as he spoke, "Hmm ... well, I _may _be persuaded to allow you to send a picture to your friend, but not an ass pic. Or, butt shot, as you so adorably put it." he paused for another chuckle, before continuing. "Sorry. No can do. Did you know that there's actually an entire website dedicated to my rear end? Yeah, it's only flattering for the first hundred or so snapshots. After that it just gets creepy."

"Oh, I—I'm sorry. I know that must get—"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Hey, it's a small price to pay. But—if I can prevent them getting their ... what is that saying? _grubby, little, hands,_" he emphasized every word with a significant pause, "on any more ass-porn, then I will. Now, hand over the goods."

Oh, hell. I couldn't very well refuse him. I retrieved my phone and handed it over. I looked down at our feet, the ground—anything, really, to avoid seeing his face as he fiddled around with the phone. I didn't even move from my spot when I felt him shift next to me, so that he was now leaning against the car beside me.

So, I was utterly shocked when I felt a pair of warm, soft lips pressed tightly to my cheek, and, almost blinded when the flash went off a second later.

"What the—" I blinked rapidly, trying to process exactly what I had just been duped into.

He laid his arm around my shoulder as he examined his handiwork. "Ah, now that's much better, don't you think?"

I snatched the phone away from him, ignoring the shit-eating grin on his face.

My mind raced to find some sort of loophole to back out of this. But when my eyes focused on the picture, it was all I could do not to clutch at my chest and let out an audible awwwww. He had captured the kiss perfectly. I was looking almost straight into the camera, all flushed and wide-eyed, while he had his eyes tightly shut, lips pressed to my face. He looked like a sleeping, peaceful, cherubic angel, or, like a little boy who had just had a spoonful of Nutella. There wasn't a trace of any smug, devious gamesmanship, just pure happiness and contentment. It was so sweet—I had to work very hard at keeping my lips from spreading into a cheek-splitting grin.

"So, do we agree that this picture is more suitable?"

I gasped at his breath, so close to my ear, and snapped out of my stupor. "Uh, yeah. Much more suitable," I replied in a still-shaky voice. "Um ... so ... You're okay with me sending this to Amelia? It could very well get in the wrong hands, as you know."

I looked into his eyes as I said these last words, and was met with that sweet choirboy smile again. "Yeah, I'm okay with that. But ... may I?" he reached his hand out to the phone, and I relented with a heavy sigh and gave it up. It was obvious he was up to something, but I didn't have the energy, or inclination, to protest.

His hands flew over the keyboard, as he no doubt looked up Amelia's email. "Now, what shall we say?"

I giggled. _Indeed_. I, for one, was at a loss for words.

He fingers resumed their frantic movements, and then the telltale tone of Message Sent sounded, before he handed the phone back to me.

* * *

My phone started ringing before I even got to my door. I ignored it until I got inside, knowing exactly who it was, and that she would call back. Several times.

When I picked it up on the third call, I made sure to keep it at a safe distance, so as not to damage my eardrums any further.

I was puzzled when all seemed deathly silent on the western front. "Hello?"

"Sookie? What happened? Where were you? I called you like a gazillion times!"

"Ames, chill. I was just walking in."

"Oh. Oh! Holy crap! The picture! He … you …"

After I gave into a fit of giddy giggles, I put her out of her misery, and related the events of the day to her, including the story behind that picture.

"You lucky bitch!"

"Oh, but I haven't gotten to the best part yet, jealous-face!"

Silence.

"Should I continue?" I teased.

"Come on, Sookie. Stop toying with me!"

I snorted, and then went on to tell her about my assignment. The squeals were loud enough to wake up the dead, break any nearby glass, and possibly cause another slip in the Lost timeline.

After she'd settled down, I could practically hear the wheels start spinning, even through the phone. "Oh my god, Sooks! You have to set up a tweet stream for this!"

"A what?" I scoffed. I kinda sorta knew what Twitter was in the most abstract sense of the word. But, I had no idea how it actually worked, nor did I particularly want to figure it out.

"Don't play dumb with me, girl. You know exactly what it is. You're probably the last person on this planet who's holding out on Twitter."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, Ames, that might be true. But, there's still no way I'm reporting on EN, on Twitter, no less. I don't think he'd like that very much."

"Why don't you ask him, then?"

"What?"

"You heard me, girl. How do you know he won't like it, unless you ask?"

I muttered incoherent, exasperated protests.

"Hey, just look at what following my advice has gotten you so far. Not only did EN kiss you, but he actually gave you photographic evidence!"

Well, she did have a point. Plus, I didn't have the time to argue with her now. It was getting late, and I had agreed to meet with Eric very early tomorrow morning.

I told Amelia I'd think about it , as it was the only way to get off the phone.

I almost didn't notice it. But, as I was about to toss my phone back in my purse, the unfamiliar image caught my eye. Oh. My. God. He'd changed my screen! To the butt shot!

* * *

_A/N: Oooooh, is Sookie gonna man-up and actually go through with it? And, what is she going to pick for a Twitter name? Oh, I just *shuTTer* at the possibilities. *evil giggles* Go ahead and press that li'l green button and weigh in! _

_I'm working on the next chapter, but review luuuurve does tend to put a magical lead foot on my typing fingers. Just sayin' ;D_

_A HUGE thanks to my amazing betas—__**nycsnowbird**__ and __**youbettago**__. They polish up my words with their hawk-beta eyes, and never let me get away with anything! Love ya girls!_

_Oh, and btw, you can thank youbetta for talking me into sprinkling a little puppy-and-rainbow awww-ness into this chapter. God help me, but that adorkable kiss made me totally giddy. Gah!_

_Any mistakes remaining are purely my own_

_Disclaimer: As always, __I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas are mine all mine._


	13. Over Easy

_A/N: So … a quick pimp for the contest I'm co-hosting with the fantabulous nycsnowbird:_

_**THE DEAD PAN CONTEST**__: It's an SVM contest with a twist. We're looking for your best parodies set in the SVM/TB universe Your parody can be culled from books, TV, films or even cartoons. How fun is that? You get to play the casting couch game, with your favorite Viking! Get more deets here:_

_**http://www . fanfiction . net/~deadpancontest**_

_Okay, so before you go off and enjoy some EN Over Easy, check out the purrrdy that __**Hannah09**__(the author of The Sound of Music, which I proudly beta for, bts) made for me! A kickass FStop banner, featuring three—that's right, __**THREE—**__Erics (well, AS's, lol)._

_http://img341(dot)imageshack(dot)us/img341/17/fstopbanner1final(dot)jpg_

* * *

**CHAPTER 12: OVER EASY**

_Your photography is a record of your living, for anyone who really sees._

_~Paul Strand_

* * *

I was beginning to feel a bit like I was on a scavenger hunt. The great EN hunt.

I was once again being driven to an address which I knew nothing about except for the street name and number. EN had given me practically the same line last night, before we'd parted, as he had when he told me to meet him before; "Have the driver take you to 69 Easy Street, Malibu, tomorrow at 8:00 a.m."

Aside from trying not to laugh at the highly appropriate address, I'd tried to press him for some more details, going with the tried and true excuse of the need to know what to wear. But it was all in vain. His only response was that it should be beach-casual.

_Beach casual? _Well, it wasn't exactly swimming weather, so I opted for jeans and a t-shirt—going with the L.A. t-shirt I had picked up at the airport when I arrived in town.

When the car came to a stop, and I opened my door (I wondered if I'd ever remember that I was supposed to let the driver open the door), my jaw hit the ground with an earth-shattering thud. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight before my eyes.

EN was just straightening up from picking up the morning edition, his eyes sparkling and all movie-star-perfect as he spotted me and flashed me a grin. He took a sip from the mug he was holding in one hand, as he slipped the paper under his arm and revealed yet more proof that no man could carry off plaid like him. The flannel blue and white plaid hung low on his waist—almost too low, in fact, not that I was complaining—revealing just enough blond fuzz to make me drool from my alreadyunladylike gawking mouth. I did my best to close it as my eyes traveled down, down, and further down plaid-clad thighs and calves to bare feet, and back up, up and up, to a perfect honey-toned v-cut, abdominals that were defined just enough but not too much, and broad chest and shoulders—the kind that made you want to bury your face in and forego the need for breathing.

_Boy, oh boy._

I noticed the chest begin to move toward me, so I finally place my feet on the ground and got out of the car, barely registering the driver shutting it behind me as Eric nudged my arm and led me toward the house.

I willed my feet to move—that's right, one in front of the other—and looked up at him.

"Mornin'."

"Mornin'," I answered with a sheepish grin as I returned my focus to the ground, redoubling my effort to make my feet work.

"Sweet dreams?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you sleep well?"

"Oh! Yeah, yeah. I did. How 'bout you?"

He chuckled. "Oh, I always sleep well . . . but I almost never dream."

I nodded, not quite sure how to proceed with that conversation but pulled up to an immediate halt when we got to the door. "Hang on. Wait. What exactly are we doing?" I shifted my eyes toward the door to silently indicate the unspoken _'in there'._

"Having breakfast," he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world and walked in ahead of me. He glanced at me over his shoulder, giving me a fantastic view of his world-class ass—which was outlined quite nicely by that damn plaid. "You coming?"

He didn't wait for my response. I guess it was more of a rhetorical question.

I followed close behind, keeping my eyes glued to that perfect butt before realizing what I was doing and dropping my attention to the floor, which upon closer inspection, seemed to be a very well-maintained light pine hardwood.

"Help yourself to coffee," he gestured toward the far corner of the kitchen, where a coffeemaker pot sparkled with the promise of freshly brewed caffeine deliciousness. There was even an empty mug sitting all by its lonesome, just waiting to be filled.

"There's milk in the fridge," he called out behind me.

I nodded and mumbled a thanks.

"So, how do you like your eggs?"

* * *

I fixed my coffee to the sound of eggs sizzling behind me.

Soon after, he looked over his shoulder and called out, "Breakfast is served!"

He turned around, holding a plate in each hand and motioned to the back door with his head. "Grab my coffee?"

Sure. Whatever you say oh-god-of-sexy-and-breakfast.

I gave a wordless nod, grabbed both mugs, and opened the door. Of course, he nodded that I should go ahead, so I proceeded through the door in front of him.

All breath left me when I got outside. The waves of the Pacific lapped against the sandy beach, a mere hundred or so feet away. I barely even noticed the soft, cushiony chair that I sunk into, as I admired the view.

And then, an equally breathtaking view settled in front of me. EN sat in the chair across the table, plopping down two plates overflowing with eggs, and fluffy French toast which was topped with assorted berries and candied pecans.

I drooled. And not just for the food. After ogling for a moment too long, earning a knowing smirk from EN, I focused my attentions on the food.

As soon as I took the first bite, I was a total goner. The French toast—doused in maple syrup and powdered sugar—seemed almost too decadent for breakfast. But I certainly didn't let that stop me. Damn, the man could cook.

I was too busy thinking about how domestic the whole scene was—sitting on the deck, eating breakfast and drinking coffee in comfortable silence—and, of course, enjoying the delicious food, to realize that I was scarfing it down at a very unladylike pace. Now, mind you, I wasn't eating with my mouth open or chomping down loudly or anything like that—I was raised with better manners than that. But, as I stared at my empty plate, I realized that it had gotten that way entirely too quickly.

Dabbing the napkin to my lips, I glanced up ever so slowly. Maybe EN had matched my pace. A girl could only hope.

No such luck.

In fact, he had barely gotten halfway through his own breakfast. And, he was staring at me with what could only be described as an indulgent smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I'm glad to see you enjoy my cooking."

I gave him a weak smile and nodded.

"I must say, I have never met anyone with a sweet tooth as insatiable as mine. Does that make us . . . _compatible_?"

I buried my face in my mug, opting to focus on the coffee instead of addressing his question. Besides, it seemed like he was already pretty sure of the answer.

After we both finished eating, Eric walked over to the couch on the other side of the deck, and picked up a large pile of manuscripts, dumping the teetering stack on the table.

I looked from him to the pile and back again. "Some light beach reading?"

He laughed. "Not quite. I have been putting off looking through these for entirely too long. Laf will probably throw a hissy fit if I don't get back to him soon."

"Laugh?" I asked. Was this some sort of Swedish breakfast riddle? I cringed, hoping knock, knock would not be his next words.

"Lafayette—my manager."

I nodded and mumbled an "Oh."

He let out a heavy I-carry-the-weight-of-the-world sigh, and picked a few titles from the stack. Settling back in his chair, he turned a bit to face the ocean before cracking open the first script.

"Uh . . . Eric?"

"Hmm?" He barely looked up.

"Uh . . . so what exactly am I supposed to do?" _I mean, as much as I do enjoy staring at your scruffy, delicious profile and rippling muscles . . ._

He looked up from his reading, picked a few more titles from the stack, and threw them toward my side of the table.

"I suppose you could make yourself useful, if you'd like."

"What do you want _me_ to do with these?"

"Read them, of course."

I rolled my eyes. Well, _duh_. That _so_ wasn't the question.

He shrugged his shoulders and gave me an encouraging smile. "Just let me know if it's something you would pay to go see me in."

_Oh, brother_. They should really do a study on the effect of an overly developed ego on the smirk and eyebrow waggle. The man could barely utter one sentence without employing either one or the other. Or both. Well, it's a good thing they both looked so damn good on him.

I forced myself to tear my eyes away and focus on my reading.

I had put in a solid hour of script reading before my phone buzzed

_You have a new text message from Amelia Broadway._

_Gurrrrl! How long you gonna make me wait?_

Damn. I guess she wasn't going to let this whole Twitter thing go. I stole a quick glance at Eric, who seemed to be quite engrossed in his current reading material. Well, I guess it couldn't hurt to give it the old college try. Amelia sure as hell wouldn't let up until I did.

So I typed in my reply.

_Negative ghost rider__.__ The pattern is full__._

Her reply was almost immediate.

_Whatev grand master espionage ninja._

I snickered. That girl was almost as obsessed with Recon One (the HBO war mini-series that had earned EN many accolades, as well as a cult following) as with Fiends.

I set down the phone and took a deep, calming breath before approaching the "target".

"So, uh . . . Eric?" I squeaked out.

He made a hmm sound without even looking up from his reading.

"There's uh . . . something I need to ask you."

He glanced up at me. "Sounds serious."

"Oh, no. It's actually kinda stupid," I mumbled. "I would totally understand if you said no."

"Alright," he set the script down, giving me his full and undivided attention. "Are you going to tell me what exactly I'm saying no to?"

I took another deep breath, bracing myself. "Okay, well . . . my friend Amelia seems to think it'd be a great idea if—ifIsetupaTwitteraccount." I tried to get it out as fast as I could, rushing forward before I could change my mind. I took another gulp of air and added what I hoped would be an adequate explanation, "You know, to report about our days together."

He stared at me in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch for an agonizing eternity. At last, he broke into a wide grin. "You want to tweet me?"

"Uh . . . I guess, yeah."

"Say it, Sookie." He breathed seductively. Leaning closer, he gave me the smoldering, I-know-you-want-me eyes. "Unless you tell me, I can't give you what you want."

Even though his innuendo was filled with teasing playfulness, I still rolled my eyes. "That doesn't work on me, you know."

"What doesn't work on you?" He actually batted his eyelashes, in mock innocence.

"That." I waved at his face. "The whole bedroom, googly-eyes thing. Or the matching smirk."

He chuckled. "Okay, fine. But you still need to tell me. What is it that you want, Sookie?"

Ugh. I could just tell that he wasn't going to let this slide without taking full advantage. Fine. "Yes, Eric," I huffed, pausing for extra melodramatic effect. "I want to _tweet you_."

"Oh, lover, you can tweet me anytime," he purred.

I snorted and doubled over with laughter.

He gave me a moment to enjoy myself, but when my laughter hadn't subsided, he cleared his throat. "But, there are a couple of ground rules we need to go over first."

"Ground rules, huh?"

He nodded like an eager little boy, obviously relishing this impromptu term negotiation.

"Okay, let's hear 'em."

"First, I get to pick your Twitter name."

I tried to control the terror-induced shiver that ran through my body at the possible options he might come up with. "Fine. But I get veto power."

A lopsided grin curved his lips. "Wow, I must say . . . you drive a hard bargain."

He sounded at least somewhat impressed. Okay, that was a good sign. I think.

But I still waited for the other ball to drop.

"You also must protect your tweets."

"Huh?"

"It is an option you can set in your account, that way only those that you have approved can see your tweets."

"Oh, okay. Sure." I nodded my agreement.

That seemed reasonable—didn't want to leak sensitive information to that butt website, that's for sure. Frankly, I was shocked that he was agreeing to any of this anyway, but then it hit me.

"Hey, wait a sec," A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth as I looked him up and down. "You sure do seem to know a lot about all this Twitter stuff."

He met my gaze steadily, but I noticed his eyes had bugged out—just a little bit. We stared each other down. I could practically hear the whistle of high noon and I was sure the tumbleweed would roll on by any minute now.

"Oh my god!" I leaned forward, my body almost parallel to the table. "_Do you have a Twitter__ account__?_"

He turned away, looking out at the ocean, before giving me a sideways glance. "And what if I do?"

"_What if you do?_" I sputtered. "Ha! Ohmigod! What's your name on there?"

He went back to his reading, unable to quite conceal the smile that played on his lips.

"Eric! Come on!" I threw my script at him, and he put up his hands to protect himself.

"Hey! What the hell?"

I glared at him.

"What?" he asked with his best innocent-choir-boy face.

"Tell. Me." This was too good. No way was I letting this go. "Now!"

"Oh, Sookie. I'm afraid I can't divulge that information."

I crossed my arms and continued to stare at him.

He merely smiled sweetly in response. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

I snorted. "Oh, okay. I get it. I bet it's something super embarrassing, like . . . vampho69!" I was overtaken by the giggles.

He looked at me all clenched-teeth and dagger-eyes. "Are you quite done?"

I waved my hand, signaling that yes, I was done. Even though my eyes still danced with sheer glee.

He pursed his lips. "By the way, I'd be a lot more original than that." His eyes darted away as he mumbled, "if I had a Twitter account, that is."

I snickered. "Oh, I think we've already established that you do."

I enjoyed another giggle, which was totally cut short by his seething glare. _Geesh. What a buzz kill._

"Okay, Eric. Please enlighten me then. What name _'would'_ you chose?" I punctuated the air-quotes on "would" with an eye roll: we both knew "would" was just a flimsy cover for "is".

Silence.

I was having way too much fun to shut up about it. "Hmm, let's see," I tapped my finger to my chin in an exaggerated way. "Oh, I know! GourmetFangasm? h00rin4vikings? Oh! Got it! SwedishMeatballsFiend!"

"Nope. I'd say try again . . . but I'd rather you don't."

"Fine, whatever. Don't give it up," I pouted. "But I bet you pose as a fangirl on there, or no . . . one of those porn writers!"

His eyes shot to mine, and the smile was wiped from his face in a fraction of a second. As a much too belated afterthought, he met my gaze and forced out an awkward fake laugh that sounded more like a bark.

I gasped, my hand flying to cover my mouth. I was quite proud, though, that I resisted the urge to point. "Oh my god! You totally do!!!"

He crossed his arms and gave me a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Okay, Sookie, stop stalling. We need to talk about your twitter name."

Dammit. I knew that was going to come back and bite me in the ass. I cringed internally, realizing I had just dug my hole that much deeper by my little speculation about his cyber identity. I tried to ignore him, opening up the next manuscript in my stack.f

"Hmmm, let's see here . . ." he mused. "Well we could go with FiendFlasher."

I snorted, then shook my head.

"TeamHumangurl? Stalking4Vikings?"

I glared.

"Oh! Of course . . . EricsAssStalker!"

I death-stared.

He laughed his damn smug Viking ass off, which only upped the violent rage quotient of said death-stare.

I soon realized his amusement with himself had no bounds, at least not on the visible horizon. So I threatened him with another script. That quieted him down a bit. "So are you gonna actually come up with some serious names, or what?"

He let out an overly heavy sigh. "Oh, okay. I suppose."

He leaned back and contemplated for a moment, stroking his jaw.

I braced myself for another onslaught.

"I've got it!" he said, springing to his feet. "EyeSpyEric!" He blurted it out, beaming with pride as he explained what he thought was the genius spelling of e.y.e. as opposed to I.

I shrugged. I guess it was better than the alternatives he'd come up with so far, and it was an apt description of what I would be doing, at least.

As soon as I gave my lukewarm semi-approval, he spun on his heels and headed for the door.

"Wait—Eric! Where are you going?"

"Oh, just grabbing my laptop ."

He came back out within minutes, carrying a very fancy schmancy looking shiny silver MacBook. He moved our chairs together so I could look on with him.

"First, we should find you a profile picture."

I kept my eyes on the screen and clamped down on my mouth. I sure was curious as to what kind of pictures he would look for and where he'd go to find them, but I wasn't about to make any suggestions for the myriad of site URL's I knew by heart.

He began to enter text into the Google search box.

_Eric Northman _

Google answered in less than a very tiny fraction of a second.

_Results 1-10 of about 1,300,000 for eric northman_

I snorted, wondering how many results would come up for my name. He _was_ disgustingly high on himself, but I guess he did have good reason.

He clicked on the images tab, bringing up a screen full of some of the most comical (and horribly sloppy) EN chops.

There were cowboy Erics. Viking Erics (so original, huh?).

There were even cross-dressed Erics.

And, of course there were nekked Erics. One in particular caught his attention; it was probably the bright yellow speedos. He clicked on the caption, which read Sweedos, but as soon as the page loaded I could hear him make an angry growling sound.

I looked over at him. He was practically seething. "The least they could do is cast a realistic body double." He took a heavy breath and ran his hands—er, his very large hands, and you know what they say about proportion—through his hair. "What I mean to say is—I have a lot more to offer."

I snorted again, but then returned my attention to the screen and my eyes bugged out. The "double" as he put it, was certainly no small contender.

We spent way too much time browsing through pictures, but hey, a girl can't really complain about spending a couple of hours looking through pictures of EN hotness, while sitting just inches away from the sex-god himself.

We browsed through a few more screens, until we both spotted a picture that made us gasp and lean forward simultaneously. Someone had put together two of my favorite things—Nutella and EN. _Spreadable joy indeed_. We stared at the chop for a long, silent moment and then looked at each other and burst into giggles. That was definitely the one.

With that task done, Eric navigated over to Twitter to set up my account. I sat back and watched as he filled out the form, pausing and looking at me when it came time to choose a password.

"So what shall it be?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Uh-uh. I'm not telling you!"

"By all means …" He gestured for me to come on over and key it in myself.

I thought about it for a moment, then told him to close his eyes and leaned in to enter in my super-secret password, doing my best to twist my body so I could shield the keyboard with it.

I heard him suck in his breath at the same time as I felt him flinch beneath me. Looking down, I realized that I was practically bent over him, and my hair must have brushed against his abs of Nordic steel. "Oh! Sorry!"

I tried to readjust myself, but I was now painfully aware of just how close every part of his body was to mine. I swear I could feel his heat against my own skin, even though we were barely touching.

"You're fine, Sookie." He breathed against my hair. As I returned my attention to the keyboard, I felt him inhale deeply.

I totally forgot what clever password I had come up with just a few moments ago.

Inclining my head in thought, I quickly came up with another one, and prayed that I 'd be able to remember it later.

"You aren't peeking, right?"

Silence.

I spun my head around, and saw that he had one eye slightly open and that damn EN smirk plastered on his face. I narrowed my eyes, and he closed it right up, but I wasn't buying it. So I covered his eyes with one hand and entered my password with the other.

"Okay, done!" I settled back into my own seat.

The smirk remained on his face as he finished up filling in the form. When it was finally all set up, he leaned back to admire his work.

"So . . . you ready?" He purred with an eyebrow waggle.

I was kind of afraid to ask, but I did anyways. "For what?"

"For your first tweet," he stretched his arms out, cracking his knuckles and leaving his hands there to hover over the keyboard, waiting.

I inclined my head until realization slowly dawned on me that he expected me to tell him what to type. For my first tweet. As his fangirl shadow.

And then, I had to bite down on my giggles as I became aware of just how I could use this to my advantage. Either he'd give up his Twitter name, or I'd be able to torture him as much as he'd tortured me. Now that's what I'd call a win-win situation. I raised my chin and fixed him with my sweetest Southern-belle smile.

"Oh, not a chance in hell, Buster. You don't get to see any of my tweets unless I approve you as a follower. And that means disclosing you super secret identity."

* * *

_A/N: Oooooh, I do love it when Sookie gets all spunky-snarky ;D What oh what could our li'l barmaid's first tweet be? Check it out here:_

_http://twitter(dot)com/EyeSpyEric_

_Oh, but of course, don't forget to give me some review lurrrrve first :) Your reviews do make my fingers fly all that much faster :)_

_A/N A GINORMOUS thanks to my amazing betas—__**nycsnowbird**__ and __**youbettago**__. _

_Oh, and youbetta was really amazingly patient and hilarious brainstorming with me on all the text messages and tweets and EN chop-heaven. I'm soooo excited to have her help me (=collab) with the tweet-galore of the next couple chapters. _

_Any mistakes remaining are purely my own._

_And, just a quick shout-out to my favorite pre-reader/giggly-uber-late-night-brainstormer A-Redhead-Thing. ILY girlie!!!_

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas are mine all mine._


	14. Casting Call

_A/N: Whoa! 2 updates in one week? Cuhraaaayzee! Well, technically three—but, this little ditty below is just a bit of pimpin' crack. _

_**Nycsnowbird and I are super-duper-with-generous-gobs-of-Nutella-on-top excited for the new contest we're co-hosting.** _

_So, without further ado, I give you … le pimp._

_

* * *

  
_

**INTERMISSION: A CONTEST PIMP**

**CASTING CALL **

**~A NUTELLA-FILLED EN INTERLUDE~**

**

* * *

**

**_On a warm & sunny afternoon not too far into FStop's future, Pixie, accompanied by her favorite shrugging fangirl Lan (who just happens to be one of the six fantabulous judges for the Dead Pan Contest) were on a very important mission. The holy grail of fangirl quests, if you will..._  
**

Pixie is fitting a key into the lock at Sookie's loft, when Lan bumps into her, making her crash face first and eat wood. And not that kind of wood, either.

After she rights herself, she fixes her co-conspirator with a glare. Lan's eyes dart around all nervous-like.

**L: Are you sure we should do this?**

Pixie unlocks the door and sighs heavily as she looks over her shoulder at her favorite shrugging fangirl.

**P: Well, duh ... Pam did give me the keys. She said that I haven't been updating FStop quickly enough, and she thought I needed some 'inspiration'.**

Lan's eyes go Japanese-anime wide as the door swings open. Fits of giddy giggles erupt from the two as they enter the loft, until they stop abruptly at the holy site in front of them.

**P: Is that--**

They stare at each other.

**L: **_**THEEE**_** Nutella jar?**

They look from each other to the industrial-sized jar, and back again, before they clutch at each others' arms and inch forward.

The girls are interrupted when a low and husky voice dripping with sex and amusement startles them.

_**See something you like?**_

The girls scream and jump twice their height in the air. When they finally land and face their intruder, they lean against each other, melting into whimpering, drooling piles of fangirl goo.

EN is standing before them, in all his glory. His jogging pants are clinging to his sweaty body in all the right places, and his bare chest is absolutely jaw dropping. Beads of perspiration form a trail down the length of his muscular chest and abdomen, and their eyes follow it in the sexiest version of connect-the-dots they've ever played The girls attempt to halt their drooling and catch their breath.

The god before them clears his throat, forcing them to return their gaze to his eyes, whereupon they melt all over at the sight of his long blond locks pulled into those much-dreamed-about Viking braids.

He smirks knowingly.

**E: So, which of you would like to tell me what you're doing in my Sookie's apartment?**

Eric directs a smoldering stare first at Lan, then at Pixie.

Lan shrugs. Like she tends to do.

Pixie rolls her eyes and meets Eric's gaze. She does adore those cute-as-fuck Lan shrugs, but she's got a Viking to deal with. A pissed off, yet somewhat amused Viking at that. But, still, a big hulk o' muscled Viking. She crosses her arms and tilts her chin, sucking in a quick breath.

**P: We could very well ask you the same question.**

EN grins his blinding, panty-combusting, thousand watt smile, like he tends to do.

**E: Pam told me to meet her here.**

Pixie gives his sweat-drenched body a once over and raises her eyebrow with a challenging smirk.

Eric's grin widens.

**E: I agreed to do so after my jog. Plus, I figured you wouldn't mind the view. **

Pixie giggle snorts. EN leans back, running a hand over his mussed hairdo.

**E: Plus, I know you are partial to the braids.**

Pixie gasps. Damn, must be talking in my sleep again. But then, she thinks back to Pam's role in all of this. She inclines her head to the right, tapping a finger to her chin as she mutters half to herself.

**P: Hmmm, I'm sensing a theme here …**

**E: What was that, Pix?**

Pixie's eyes bug out at the sound of her nickname falling so deliciously off of the Viking's lips. It still gets her. Every. Fucking. Time. She finally picks her jaw off the floor.

**P: Oh … I just said a theme … you see my friend here is super excited to be one of the judges in this new contest I'm co-hosting, and we were just talking about the theme.**

Eric raises a skeptical eyebrow before breaking into another grin.

**E: Ah, yes. The Dead Pan contest. It is quite fortuitous that we have run into each other like this, since I have been meaning to talk to you about this contest of yours.**

The tall drink of swoonilicious walks over to the still-incapacitated girls, placing an arm around each one and leading them toward the couch. He seats himself across from them.

**E: Oh, I do like how you girls think. I need some juicy new roles I can really sink my teeth into.**

The girls snicker, but resist the urge to make any flirtatious poke at EN's eating/biting habits. They are far too distracted by Eric's extra long legs, as he stretches them in front of himself and crosses them, the toes almost reaching the girls' own feet.

**E: But, I did want to talk a little about what kind of role I see myself in—**

Pixie's snort is loud enough to cause the great Viking to stop mid-sentence. He glares.

**P: Oh, please do go on. What did you have in mind?**

**E: Well, as much as I know you adore a good giggle—whatever the cost—I do want make sure that my part is BIG enough.**

Pixie gets an evil glint in her eyes.

**P: But I thought there was no such thing as small parts, only small … (she lets her eyes drop for a moment, before raising them back up to meet Eric's eyes) actors?**

Eric chuckles before dismissing the ridiculous notion with a wave of his VERY large hand.

Lan swoons with an audible THUD.

She digs around in her purse, and produces what looks like a makeshift sign. Pixie and EN both lean forward to read it.

**_*death by hand porn*_**

**_BRB_**

Eric smiles and rewards Lan with a wink and a bonus eyebrow waggle before he continues.

**E: I was thinking … Dances with Fangs would be great, or—**

He leans forward, licking his lips seductively.

**E: Gone with the Fang!**

The girls both die with hysterical giggles. EN takes it as his cue to continue.

**E: You know what they say …**

Pixie's giggles subside abruptly as her eyes narrow; she knows exactly where he's going, yet she's powerless to stop him.

EN smirks with smug satisfaction as he delivers his lame-ass punch line.

**E: ****Once you go fang, you can never go back to breather schwang.**

**P: I hate to rain in on your little corn parade there, buddy, but … you do realize you just **_**play**_** a vampire on TV, right?**

Eric crosses his arms, leans back, and pouts, his lower lip quivering. Lan and Pixie tremble at the sight. Pixie lets out an audible moan; Lan bites at her lip to prevent herself from doing the same. Satisfied, Eric forges on.

**E: So, go on little one, I mean, little ones. Tell me more about what I can expect.**

The evil glint returns to Pixie's eyes.

**P: Well, E—you can definitely expect lots of, as you so succinctly put it—juicy roles. Anything from comedy, to horror, to Shakespearean tragedy; content could be culled from today's popular movies and TV shows, classics of literature, and everything in between. Of course, since my co-host nycsnowbird and I decided to make this a crossover challenge, you may need to share with other … uh, how shall I put this? Oh, yeah. BIG actors.**

Eric jumps up, letting out an impressive string of English and Scandinavian curses before he calms himself down with a heaving sigh.

**E: Very well, I understand the need for such a cheap trick. But—just make sure I don't get any sparkles on me. Now, give me the … what is it you kids call it these days? Ah, yes. 411.**

Pixie snarls. She does not appreciate being called kid. One. Little. Bit. So she plays dumb.

**P: 411? Why, whatever do you mean, **_**old man**_**? **

Eric chuckles.

**E: Ahh, my devilish little Pixie—oh goddess of swexy, snarky ESN UNFness—I throw myself at your fanfic mercy. **

Pixie narrows her eyes and taps a finger to her chin.

**P: Why does that sound vaguely familiar?**

He smiles sweetly. Pixie melts, yet again. Damn that EN and his magical smile. It was more powerful than any pixie dust she ever peddled, that's for damn sure.

**E: That's my girl. Now, when can I expect the first project?**

Pixie huffs, but indulges him.

**P: Well, there will be some amazing example fics coming up very soon, from none other than the supremely talented and gorgeous zeewriter and Gallathea. You know, to get those ff writing wheels turning n' all. But, the contest will officially kick off on April 1****st****.**

Eric narrows his eyes and looks suspiciously from Pixie to Lan, and back to Pixie again.

**E: This isn't all just some big practical joke, is it?**

After the girls' giggles subside, encouraged by the impatient tapping of Eric's foot and several very annoyed sighs, Pixie assures him that it is no joke.

**E: Okay, then. Go on. Lay it on me.**

Pixie raises her brow and smirks. Eric knows what's coming and is absolutely powerless to stop it.

**P: Oh, Viking, I'll lay it on you anytime. You just name the time and the place and I'm there.**

She'd really like to end her little speech with a wink—but unfortunately, she can't wink without distorting her face in the most disturbing manner. It is a little known fact, but even more unfortunately for our Pixie, the Viking is all too aware of her—for lack of a better word—shortcomings.

His smirk is smug and knowing and deeeeelicious with at least three capital D's.

**E: Are you quite done, Pix?**

Pixie's shoulders slump with defeat. Lan wraps her arm around Pixie, rubbing to make it all better. Pixie lets out a heavy sigh and looks back at Eric, but keeps her head resting on Lan's chest. He still has an expectant look on his face, obviously still waiting for details.

**P: Wow, I really am touched, E.**

She ignores his suggestive eyebrow waggle.

**P: I do appreciate the effort E—really I do—but you don't need to concern your pretty little head with all the nitty gritty. However, I suppose if you just can't contain your curiosity, you **_**could**_** go to the contest profile to get all your questions answered. It's at http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~deadpancontest **

**And, myvampfiction(dot)com is our partner in crime on this one, so you can go to their site to check it out too. **

Eric smiles, then ducks his head in what could only be categorized as embarrassment. _Was the Viking blushing? _Lan and Pixie exchange disbelieving glances before turning back to said Viking.

**E: Well, I just wanted to do my part to make sure you get plenty of entries.**

Eric raises his eyes and gives the ladies a shy smile. Lan and Pixie both involuntarily clutch at their hearts and let out an Oprah-worthy "aww."

Pixie leans forward, grinning with mischievous glee.

**P: Oh, I don't think you have anything to worry about. After all, who wouldn't want to spend some quality time on the casting couch with EN and Nutella?**

Eric lets out the most adorable giggle snort and rises to his feet. Offering an arm to each girl, he puts on his best sex-growl.

**E: Now, ****who's ready for a Nutellatini?**

Is that a rhetorical question? It certainly should be.

Both girls grip EN's offered arm, hungrily grabbing handfuls of perfect Viking smooth skin and rippling muscle. He turns his gaze to Pixie, seemingly waiting for an answer. She grins up at him.

**P: Do you even have to ask?**

Satisfied, he turns his attention to Lan. Lan shrugs and breaks into a grin as she loses herself in those sapphire blue oceans.

The threesome walks toward the kitchen, pausing at the Holy Jar O' Nutella. EN looks from the jar to Lan, giving her a wink before looking back down at the Nutella jar.

Lan trembles as she reaches for the jar. She hands it to EN, her eyes hooded with desire as she looks up at him, licking her lips. He chuckles and swallows up the jar with his ginormous hand. On his other side, Pixie's eyes bug out as her knees turn to Jello.

EN leads them to the kitchen and gathers the ingredients and necessary implements. As he's shaking up the heavenly concoction, he questions Pixie.

**E: So, is it true what they say? **_**Is**_** comedy really harder than dying?**

The evil grin that spreads over Pixie's lips is contagious, and Lan can't help but giggle. She doesn't know what's coming, but she knows that she's powerless to stop it, and that whatever it is—it's gonna be good.

Pixie gives her best fangirl shrug and bats her lashes all innocent-like. In that way she does.

**P: Oh, not when the GP is involved!**

* * *

_Huge Viking sized thanks to Galla for helping to polish… er, yeah. I'm not even gonna go there. *sweet innocent smile* Thanks Galla!!! Oh, and I just couldn't help but play a little more with the Viking, so any mistakes remaining are purely my own :)  
_

_Now that you've patiently read through the feature length pimp post (we __**do**__ apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your patience!) please do go on to the next chapter. I promise it's a real update! Cross my heart!_


	15. Makin' Cool Whippie

_A/N: First, a quick pimp for the contest I'm co-hosting with __**nycsnowbird**__._

_Check out the new SVM/TB contest, the DEAD PAN CONTEST which is going on right now. It features parodies of our favorite Viking & barmaid, culled from books, TV, films, cartoons or even fairytales. If you've never written before, this is a great (and fun!) way to get your feet wet._

_Details here: __**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~deadpancontest**_

_The current entries need your review love! If you're looking for something good to read, please head over there now!!!_

_A/N: Also, A-Redhead-Thing made an fantabulous playlist for FStop—check it out:_

_**http://www**__**(dot)**__**playlist**__**(dot)**__**com/playlist/19626842635**_

_Okay, read,enjoy… meetcha at the bottom:-)_

_

* * *

_

**CHAPTER 13: MAKIN' COOL WHIPPIE**

_I've been looking so long at these pictures of  
you that I almost believe that they're real_

_~The Cure_

_

* * *

_

Eric had just excused himself to take a shower when my phone buzzed again.

I didn't even have to read the message on the screen to know I had a new text from Amelia. I had sent over the name of my Twitter account about 20 minutes earlier and was actually pretty surprised it had taken her this long to check up on me again.

_**Dooood. Check your follow requests.**_

My reply was quick and to the point.

_**???**_

My phone buzzed again a few seconds later.

_**Check your email. I'm EricsAssStalker. *waggles brows***_

I rolled my eyes as I opened up my email. Lordy, I could practically hear her cackles through that eyebrow waggle. My mouth gaped as I saw the entire screen filled with new messages, all from Twitter.

_**Holy crap Ames! There's like 50 requests in here! Who the heck are all those people?**_

Her reply came back at vampire speed.

_**Fangirls, Duh! Niice!**_

_**WTF Ames? How did they hear about it?**_

_**Gurrrl, I'm just being a responsible fangirl 'sall. I put out the word.**_

I shook my head and decided to ignore that last statement, opting instead to go approve some of those requests. As soon as I was done, I browsed over to my page and noticed that Amelia had already sent me a tweet. Of course; why wasn't I surprised?

_**Waitin' on mah gurrrrrl Sookster EyeSpyEric to tell me what her and the hotness, EN, are up to today!!**_

I pondered for a moment before typing in my reply.

_**EricsAssStalker EN is currently soaping up; I'm waiting for our plans. And no, Ames—I will not get a shower spy pic!**_

After that, I was a total goner.

This was worse than the forums. I entertained myself with approving new followers and responding to tweets, entirely losing track of time and my surroundings. And, of course, giggling hysterically at the replies these girls came up with—some of them really should consider going on the stand up circuit. They were just too hilarious.

Eric's voice came out of nowhere from behind me. "So … you think you'll be able to tear yourself away from that?"

I jumped in my chair, gasping, before twisting around to glare at him. The effect must have looked truly mental because I could feel my eyes bug out at the site of him—freshly showered and oh-so-yummy; dressed in denim from head to toe. After I'd successfully commanded my mouth not to drool, I stuck the phone in my purse and shrugged as nonchalantly as I could fake it. "Oh, yeah. Sure."

He sat down next to me and slid his feet into a pair of flip flops that he had set down on the ground."So, any new followers yet?"

I raised an eyebrow and giggled. He really did know entirely too much about the inner workings of Twitter. "Oh, a few."

"Excellent." He had a kid-in-the-candy-store grin on his face. "Shall we go to our first official stop then?"

He put his out hand for me and I just nodded and put my hand in his.

* * *

We had accelerated to a comfortable speed before I spoke (well, I was only resting my hand on the passenger door handle, as opposed to death-gripping it). "So, what should I tell the inquiring masses?"

He looked over at me with a raised brow and chuckled. Resting one hand on the wheel, he stroked his chin with the other. "Hmm ... let's see." His lips curled into a devious smirk. "You can tell them … GTL, baby."

I snorted. _Gym, tan and laundry?_ Dear god, was he seriously quoting Jersey Shore to me?

I dutifully typed in the update.

_**EN says we're going to "GTL, baby" *snickersnort* **__**What a dork...**_

I smirked right back at him after hitting the send button. "Wow. I'm impressed." He turned to me, his own smile transforming into an all out ear-to-ear grin. "Really Eric, I didn't think you did your own laundry. Don't you have, like, people for that sort of thing?"

He laughed and then raked his eyes up and down my body. "Oh, as much as I'd love to _do_ …" here he waggled his brows for even more sexual emphasis, "laundry with you, I'm afraid that's not in the cards for today. But we _will_ be purchasing some clothing."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. "I assume you have that company card that Pam gave you?"

"Wait a sec—how do you know about that?"

"You are an employee of the gallery now, technically."

"Oh, yeah. I guess so."

He shot me a sideways glance. "I'm sure you didn't expect to paint the town red when you packed for this trip. We will only pick up the bare essentials."

I rolled my eyes as I reached for my phone. I was pretty sure that our definitions of "bare essentials" tipped the opposite sides of the scale. "So, we're basically getting ready to go out somewhere fancy schmancy tonight?"

"Oh, no, not tonight. But one of my favorite groups _is_ playing at a club in town tomorrow night. We will be going to that."

"Oh, cool. Who's playing?"

"Oh, you'll see," he evaded the answer and my eyes.

Well, I could see why he might not want me telling all of Twitter where he planned to be tomorrow night. I almost shuddered at the thought of the cougar pussy wagons circling the location. The horrifying image was thankfully knocked right out of my mind as he swerved onto the exit and my body flattened against the door.

"Please just tell me it's not Lady Gaga." I gave him a mock-glare before bursting into laughter.

"No," his mouth twitched with amusement, "and hopefully there won't be any appearance of the paparazzi, either. Not the musical or the flesh variety."

I choked back another giggle as I typed the tweet.

_**We're going to some sorta concert tomorrow. EN won't say who, but swears it's not Lady Gaga. Should we believe him?**_

I barely had time to send the tweet before the car lurched forward as EN floored it. I clutched at the door as I watched the blur of the city street fly by us entirely too fast—for my heart and my stomach.

"You might have a death wish Eric, but I sure don't!"

He just chuckled—quite maniacally if I might add—and focused his attention on weaving through traffic. This was like Mario golf cart on government-grade crack.

"Seriously, Eric," I said through clenched teeth. "What's the big rush?"

He shrugged. "I just… hate being late."

I finally let out my breath when we screeched to a halt, somehow executing a pretty darn impressive parking job, to boot.

I don't know how he ignored my furious glare but he just rushed out of the car, not even waiting to see if I was going to follow. I actually had to scramble to catch up to him. Yet somehow, he was well aware of exactly when I closed the door, turning on the alarm with a chipper beep that made me seethe all the more violently. I had just reached his side when I was able to make out the sign on the store front.

I hurried inside after him, almost running into the wall of his back when he stopped abrubtly just short of the reception area. He turned to me and placed his hand at the small of my back, guiding me forward. "Ready?"

I stared up at him, eyes widening with the horror. "Oh, god, were your really serious about the fake tan?"

He chuckled and dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Oh, no, no. I figured you for a natural girl in that department."

I resisted the urge to tell him that I was a natural girl in all departments, instead opting to stick to the original question which he had yet to answer. "So ready for what, then?"

"Color and cut, girlfriend."

I giggled. "You mean you're not a natural blond, Eric?"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with enhancing what nature gave you," he replied with a toothy grin, but then he got all shifty-eyed and added, "You know, for the show. My hair has to be blond for the show, stylist orders and all."

At this point, we were greeted by a typically-chipper-yet-snooty hairstylist with her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail so tight it made her cheekbones appear as if they would pop right out of her skin. She ushered us toward the back and I was thankful for her timing; I had been this close to losing it. I mean EN, the hulking Viking hunk, in foils? _Unbe-freaking-livable_. Well, I guess if I'd seen a Chihuahua dressed in a tux, this wasn't as far fetched as all that, but still.

After we were seated in adjacent swivel chairs, he turned to me. "So, are you going to go for matching highlights?" I finished up my latest tweet before what he asked clicked in my brain.

_**:Aussie Accent: Watching the fierce cheetah in it's natural habitat... the salon. *giggles***_

I shook my head and snickered. "Wait, are you really being serious?" Oh, dear god, he _was_ really serious, as was clear by his affirmative nod. "Oh, gosh. Well actually, I _have_ always wanted to try highlights, but I was a little afraid my hair might turn green or fall off or something."

Crap. Did I just say that out loud? As if my _I heart L.A._ t-shirt wasn't a dead giveaway that I wasn't from around these parts, that last admission surely sounded like a line right out of Beverly Hillbillies. I took a big gulp of air and shrugged before meeting his eyes again. "Okay, what the hell?"

* * *

I moaned into my lemonade as I put it to my lips to take another sip, resisting the urge to rub my eyes or pinch myself. Instead, I repeated the mantra in my head:

_This is not a dream. This is not a dream. You will not wake up and discover you were once again frolicking in EN-lala-land. Rinse and repeat._

And how had I ended up here? Here being the deck of EN's beach house, that is? Oh, yeah, that's right. After sitting in the salon with a head full of foil for the better part of the afternoon, EN had taken us to some frou-frou department store, where he made some very pointed suggestions for my wardrobe—in fact, I'd say they were bordering on demands. Of course, that was after I was treated to a front row seat at a (semi)private EN fashion show, so my will and knees were sufficiently weakened to prevent much of struggle from me. My tweets from the comfy couch outside the dressing room consisted pretty much of "Gahhh!" and "UNNNNFFFFF!!!" (which Amelia had explained to me,) and also "Damn, does anything look bad on this man?!". I cannot even tell you how many nasty replies I got from the twit-fans when I refused to capture a spy pic of him sans pants.

And then? Well, then it was back to his place for the gym part of the GTL routine. So after showing me around the kitchen and giving me free reign to help myself to _'whatever_, _whenever'_ as he phrased it, he excused himself to change into his workout gear. And now I found myself gazing—well to be fair, it was more of an ogle/stare—at the Viking god as he jogged back up the beach toward me.

I had, of course, quite enjoyed the sight when he was headed the other way; an unfettered view of his broad back and world-class booty as it got smaller and smaller—_going, going, and_ ... I had probably let out the world's loudest, saddest sigh. _Gone_.

But now the scene in front of me seriously made me wonder if I had stepped into some old Hollywood movie. The muscles of his chest—now bare, he must have taken his shirt off at some point and stuck it into the waist of his workout pants where it dangled from—rippled and flexed as he trotted along the beach. The oranges, reds and purples of the setting sun backlighting that gorgeous head of golden locks bouncing around his shoulders with every stride.

Wow. The live show was _so_ much better than the pre-recorded one. Not even today's 3D technology could come close to this; although I sure did wish I could reach out and touch some of the sexy scene before me. I settled back to enjoy it, praying that I wouldn't hear some grumpy, strung-out director yell out the word 'cut' off to stage right. At least not anytime soon.

* * *

After a full week of tailing Eric, I had to admit - I'd had a swoontastic-good time. Yet I still hadn't really gotten to know him all that well. Not more than knee-deep anyways.

_Not that I was complaining. _

After that first day, I told myself that I could at least give him a few days, see what happens. I mean, I was being paid to do my first photography job and spend some one on one up close and personal time with Eric Northman to boot! I'd have to hand in my fangirl badge if I didn't at least give it the old college try.

The days flew by, and before I knew it a whole week had come and gone. We went to see that show the following night—it was a Swedish band that sounded kind of like punk, from what I could tell, at least. They were pretty cool, even though I couldn't understand a word.

We also hung out with Pam one night, which was a real trip because we ended up going to this hole-in-the-wall bar, where we watched some soccer game that both Eric and Pam were way too excited about. This was most definitely not a place that had Pam written all over it, but she seemed into it. I was sandwiched between them and jostled around most of the night as they alternated between screaming, jumping and chanting in their native language.

_**Swedish Football. Go Hammarby!!! EN Says **__**Mål mål mål!**_

At least I got to learn how those two knew each other—I guess they'd grown up in the same town, even went to the same high school. They had hated each other back then—Eric being in the jock type, while Pam was in the artsy crowd. But when they ran into each other stateside years later, they practically became besties. I guess it was the only Swedish club in town.

_**OMG Ya'all!! I found someone who actually HATED EN once!! INCONCEIVABLE! :-P**_

Eric kept our schedule pretty full during the day, too. Aside from the beachside jogs, we also went rollerblading, checked out the latest show at the Malibu Ghetty villa, and even went to the zoo one day. Eric had this bizarre yet highly entertaining fascination with the monkeys there. I even caught him almost mirroring their expressions as he stared at them, mesmerized—I don't even think he was really aware he that he was doing it. But come to think of it, all of his eyebrow waggles and arches did have a certain similarity… Just my luck, as I pulled out my phone to snap a pic, he walked us to the next exhibit. My followers sighed.

But the highlight of the week, by far, was karaoke night with the Recon cast.

_**RECON reunion night! Karaoke + EN + RECON cast should = Epic awesome. :D**_

We showed up at the bar and Eric introduced me to all the guys. They were all nice but one really stuck out - Ray Ray. Part of it was his whole getup—from the pimptastic gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses, to the pink and white striped Izod shirt with the collar popped, of course. But more than anything else it was his over the top personality that was even louder than his clothes. It seemed like whenever he sensed the group's attention stray from him—even a tiny little bit—he would come up with another crazy antic to keep the focus on himself. It was entertaining, if nothing else. That, and he wasn't too hard on the eyes either.

After a few rounds and some gut-splitting renditions of "Sweet Child O'Mine" and "Cat Scratch Fever", I was getting a drink at the bar when Ray sidled up next to me. He practically laid his head on my shoulder as he mock-gasped, "I spy Eric's spy!!!"

My jumping and gasping routine was, I guess, exactly what he was going for. He burst into laughter, but was able to catch my falling phone with impressive ease.

"Sorry Sister, you gotta watch your six around ol' Ray Ray." He said as he set the phone down on the bar.

"I'll have to try and remember that, I guess." I reached for my phone and slid it closer to me, noticing that the Twitter screen was still up. "Hey, wait a sec ... how do _you_ know about EyeSpyEric?"

He flashed me an adorably goofy grin. "Oh, I follow your little Twit-scapades. Gotta keep tabs on my boy!"

"Yeah, but … how did you even find out about the twitter thing?"

"Oh, Ol' Ray Ray knows many things, my dear Cool Whip. But in this particular arena ... well," he fixed me with a toothy grin. "Good ol' Iceman told me about it. He was all kinds of giddy about some smooth blonde doing a piece for him. He was bragging. _Fucking bragging!!!_ Dick supreme."

I did my best to hide my face—and the sheepish grin that was plastered all over it—in my drink, as Ray Ray went on. "And then I meet you and well, yeah. I'd fucking brag if I were him too. Look at you! Cool. WHIP. Coolwhip! Fucking creamy and smooth."

I had to concentrate real hard on swallowing so I wouldn't choke on my drink. He leaned back, resting his arm on the bar behind him, looking like he was very appreciative, as well as highly amused, by the view.

"So, what, do you guys like gossip on the phone every night?"

"Yeah, and when you're not around we paint each other's toes and wax each other's chests ... scratch that. Only Fruity Rudy waxes." He caught Rudy's attention and blew a kiss at him, which Rudy caught and held to his heart before blowing back a kiss of his own.

_Oh, lordy._ I flagged the bartender down and motioned for a refill before turning back to Ray Ray. "Oh, so did you get all jealous that we got our hair done together?"

When he hesitated, I almost lost it. "Ohhh. Did he leave out that little tidbit?"

"Sonofa!" He leaned in, picking up a lock of my hair and inspecting it closely. "I knew those highlights looked familiar!" He spun around, scanning the room. "Sugar bottom! You cheating bastard!! You told me I was the love of your life!" He mock-sobbed, complete with chest-clutching and a wobbly lower lip.

"Awww, poor baby. I'm sure it didn't mean anything. Besides, it was all in the line of duty."

"Hey, what exactly is your job? It's the one thing Big Boy wasn't real clear on when he told me about his sexy shadow."

"Oh really? Well, he hired me to photograph him."

He slammed down the shot of jack he'd just pounded back and waggled his brows.

"I'm sure you've heard how unhappy he was with those shots for the Fiends calendar."

"Oh Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd! Not more of that ... he's such a fucking baby about that shoot!" He let out an exaggerated sigh and took a swig of his fresh Pabst Blue Ribbon.

"I know, right?" I giggled. "I remember hearing him complain about it after they came out, but it was hard to keep a straight face when he told me he was actually looking to hire someone for a re-do."

"You know, all those months in the desert and he never complained … he gets back here, does one bad photo shoot and now he's whining like bitch!"

"Oh? So he didn't do the diva bitchiness routine in Africa? This is a new attribute?" I said with my best Southern-belle sweet-as-molasses smile.

He sucked in his breath and replied in a hushed tone dripping with mock-shock. "You dare call the master 'bitchy'?! HAAAAAAA!!!! I like you, CoolWhip." His eyes drifted around the room, coming to a stop when he spotted EN, I assumed. "Nah, Eric's as down to Earth as someone in his position can be, maybe more so ... beneath those rock hard abs and fabulous pecks lies a heart of gold."

Was he … getting all misty-eyed? I hid behind my Gin & Tonic, studying him.

"See, Eric puts up the Hollywood front because that's what is expected of him. His agents told him years ago to play the sex symbol card, be seen with starlets, hit all the parties. You know—act like an A-lister and you'll become one. But that isn't really him. He's actually a really great guy. Sickeningly so. Did you know he saved a puppy while we were filming in Africa? Yeah. But is he as hot as me? No, I think not. And who gets all the mag covers? His 6'4'' Swedish ass. Whiskey Tango fucker!"

I laughed so hard my vision got all blurry. "Well, I guess he's a really good actor then," after a short pause, I continued, treading as carefully as possible, "But … how do you know which Eric is the act?"

"It's not really rocket science. I mean seriously, would a douchebag save a puppy?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "Are you sure there weren't cameras rolling?"

"Whippie, if cameras had been rolling, wouldn't you have seen that shit on ET already? Come on. EN plus puppies equals squeeing fangirls out the ass. Plus, there's a million more examples where that came from. You shoulda seen him help fruity Rudy to evenly apply sunblock to his back!"

I doubled over with laughter. "Are you kidding me?"

"Fuck no I'm not kidding!" He cupped his mouth and hollered across the bar, "HEY RUDY! You were grateful when Ice Man spread that cool creamy shit all over your tawny ass, right?"

Rudy shot us a blinding smile and bowed with a flutter of his hand.

"Okay, okay! I believe you." I said, putting up my hands in surrender. "But … I hope he lets me see that side of him. Soon."

"Oh Sweet Sookie, I think it'll be sooner than you think ... like … perhaps ... now."

He grabbed my shoulders, ignoring my questioning look, and spun me around.

"Shit girl, if I ever had a chance, I just fucking lost it to the MAN ... Watch and be amazed."

When my eyes and ears finally made sense of the scene before me, I had to pick my mouth off the floor. Eric was on stage and looking straight at me, as his body slowly swayed to the beginning of … holy crap! Was that …_ Bad Company?_ As the words drifted over to me, I froze into some sort of strange trance.

_Ooh, I want you to stay_  
_Ooh, I want you today_  
_I'm ready for love_  
_Oh baby, I'm ready for love_

He started out by crooning the melody in perfect harmony to the whiny guitar, stretching out the words leisurely. But then something shifted—he shut his eyes and his face got all strained as he really, really got into it—and began to belt it out. His voice became all hard-edged and gravelly, and it was hotter than hell.

_Now I'm on my feet again_  
_Better things are bound to happen_  
_All my dues, surely must be paid_  
_Many miles and many tears_  
_Times were hard but now they're changing_  
_You should know that I'm not afraid_

_Ooh, I want you to stay_  
_Ooh, I want you today_  
_I'm ready for love_  
_Oh baby, I'm ready for love_

As the music faded, I gradually became aware, once again, that there were other people in the room. Er, world. When I heard Ray Ray hamming it up behind me and saying "Baby, I'd butter yo' bread!!", I turned to look at who he had found to harass now, only to see that he was on the phone. _My phone._

"Oh, shit. Abort mission! Tweet you later girl!!!"

I snatched the phone from him, only to gasp at what I heard on the other end—Amelia's squeals and "you better!". I'd recognize those squeals anywhere.

"Ames?"

"Oh, hey Sooks. Not having too much fun without—"

"Uh … why were you talking to Ray Ray?"

"'Cause he's adorable as fuck!" I snorted. Nobody could get me to snorting like good ol' Ames. "Plus, he answered the phone when I called you after that crazy ass last tweet of yours!"

"My wha—"

I hung up the phone without even bothering with an excuse or a see-ya, and brought up the Twitter screen as fast as my fingers could make it happen. My eyes all but popped right out of my head at the tweet, and the accompanying picture.

_**RAY RAY HERE. COMANDEERED S's PHONE. CHECK PIC OF E ON STAGE, KILLING CAT CROONING AT S!**_

Well, I guess all things considered, though, it could have been way worse; Ray _could_ have snapped a pic of _me _watching Eric like a groupie for GnR.

* * *

I had received over 200 new follower requests after the karaoke picture of Eric was posted. I also sifted through my followers, looking for Ray Ray but wasn't able to find anyone I could say with one hundred percent certainty was him, and Amelia wasn't telling even though she eluded to the fact that they were in contact. _Fairweather friend!_

Eric had given me the heads up at the beginning of the week that we would be going to the annual Fangasm party together, and by the big day I had worked myself up to quite the fangirling tizzy over the big shindig. Aside from being in a room filled with today's hottest vamp stars—well technically, the hotties who played them on the screen—this was going to be the first official Hollywood event during our time together.

True, we had run across a gaggle of paparazzi here and there, but altogether we had managed to stay pretty much off of their radar. But, with the annual Fangasm party being such a highly publicized event, it was sure to be an absolute zoo.

EN had tried to prepare me throughout the week, warning me that the paparazzi was pretty much always camped out at in front of Chateau Marmont, and that they were sure to be there tonight in particular because pretty much anyone who wasn't living under a rock knew the Fangasm party was going on tonight. Even though it was a charity event, HBO and his show's producers viewed it as a promotion opportunity, and would be expected to play nice with the photogs. I smacked myself internally now for actually agreeing to his request that I pose with him on the red carpet. At the time, I had tried to nod all nonchalant-like, as if I was a worldly Hollywood insider and understood that it was just an expectation—enthralling the vermin, as Pam would have put it.

But now, all that confidence and courage I'd thought I had went right through the window—the tightly shut and darkly tinted window, that is, through which I could still hear and see the flashes of the cameras entirely too well. I sat all but paralyzed in my seat, just staring at the pane of glass.

"Ready?"

EN's breath was close and hot against my neck. But not even he could snap me out of my impending freak-out—already well in progress.

I had pretty much kept it together most of the ride over. Granted, I had been more than distracted on the way over, trying to figure out if he had opened that box he'd found in my bed before moving it to my bureau. He didn't all out admit to anything, but he seemed to be a lot more intrigued by my jewelry than any other man I'd ever known.

During our drive, he'd caught me staring at him more times than I'd like to admit. But he would just smirk and wink before returning his eyes to the road. He was obviously in full Leif-the-panty-thief mode tonight.

When we took the exit though, he turned off the radio and gave me another warning of what I was in store for. Not that there was really much I could do about it at that point. Like my Gran always said, in for a penny in for a pound. At least I would have all the swoonalicious eye-candy to console myself with once we got inside.

But still, none of his warnings could have truly prepared me for the mob scene that was obviously just outside the safety of the Corvette doors. Now that I was (almost) face to face with the imminent reality of it, I felt every muscle in me tense up. My pulse raced, almost to the point of matching the speed of the camera shutters going off outside.

"Sookie," his voice was low and husky and strong. Sex and comfort all at the same time. "Look at me."

I heard the words, but there were too many synapses going off in my brain to be able to actually command any cooperation from my body. Cupping my chin, he turned my face towards his. "Do you trust me?"

We were so close that his breath tickled my lips. And as I looked up into his eyes, everything was somehow okay. Damn, that Viking mojo was freaking powerful! For once, I was grateful for it.

After a moment I snapped out of it, thank god, and was able to steady my breath and once again find my voice. "Yeah. Of course, Eric."

"That's my girl." I tried for a grin but had to settle for a tight smile. "Just stick by me, and I'll fend the vultures away."

I gave him a small nod and he rewarded me with a grin before he opened the door and got out. I grabbed my purse and took one last deep breath before following, but nearly jumped when the car door unexpectedly opened without my help, and a large, familiar hand was extended towards me. I took it gratefully, swinging my legs out of the car and surveying the mass of flashing lights straight ahead as I righted myself. When I felt Eric's arm wrap around me, his hand coming to rest at the curve of my hip, I couldn't help but lean into him as he led us forward.

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_A/N: So what'd ya think? Oh, and btw, there is an outtake that I wrote for the Support Stacie Auction, The Toy Is Out of the Box, that kinda goes in between here. The whole Fangasm party thing might make more sense if you read it. Link is in my profile._

_A/N A GINORMOUS thanks to my amazing beta AND collaborator __**youbettago**__. Didn't she do a ninja job with Ray Ray? Gurrrl, you can be my Ray Ray anytime ;D_

_Any mistakes remaining are purely my own._

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas are mine all mine._


	16. Say EN!

A/N:_ Hello my lovely Nutella lovahs! Well, I think this is the chapter we've all been waiting for… ah, well. At least I have :)_

_But first, I must beg. PLEASE go give the __**Dead Pan Cotnest**__ fics some review luvin'! Some of 'em still have less than 10! INCONCEIVABLE!!!_

_http://www__ . fanfiction . net/community/Dead_Pan_Contest/78556/99/0/1/_

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**CHAPTER 14: SAY EN!**

_Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again_

_~Pablo Picasso_

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Eric led us through the tangle of cameras with a practiced ease, pausing just long enough for the requisite number of photos. Before too long at all, he was whisking me through the doors. I was just starting to think it wasn't nearly as bad as I had feared, when it hit me. The wave of dark, depressing energy slammed into me so hard and fast it nearly knocked me back.

I followed closely behind EN, trying to focus on him instead of the toxic energy in the room. I was extremely relieved to find that he had led us to the bar, even more so when I saw that he not only remembered my poison of choice but that he was able to get it in my hand at a speed worthy of the vampire he portrayed on TV.

I smiled at him gratefully and turned to face the room. The familiar hot burn of the alcohol spread across my body—but it still couldn't drown out the oppressiveness of the crowd. Why had I not thought about this? Oh, yeah. Because my hoo-ha was too busy filling my head with images of Black Dagger hotness. Oh, and EN may have had a little something to do with it too.

But I should have known that there would be a massive emotional torrent at an event like this. The needy, groping energy of the crowd here was even worse than I had experienced that night at the Fstop gallery, definitely the worst I'd experience so far in Los Angeles … actually, probably ever.

I just knew that no matter how fast I could chug my drink down, I wouldn't be able to numb myself enough to avoid an epic headache, at the very least. So I just prayed that this night wouldn't be too long, even though I was hoping to at least get a good ogle at the brothers—and tried to stay by EN's side as much as possible. Well, he did make it pretty easy, as he kept an unrelenting grip on my arm while we made our way around the room.

**XXX**

After what seemed like hours, we were finally able to sit down at one of the tables. Eric had just gone off to grab us another round when a familiar, dark figure approached.

Bill greeted me with a hopeful smile, though all I could focus on was how his manbangs seemed to have gotten extra long. But I just didn't have the heart to turn him away.

His lame come-on lines were so annoying and he just didn't know how to take the hint, so I decided to change the subject and ask him about his work.

That wasn't such a bright idea.

I felt the wave of misery almost swallow me whole. And that was before he even started talking.

He let out a heavy sigh and his eyes dropped with his voice, like he was at confessional, or something. "Sometimes, I feel like I should have never said yes to this role … like it was the biggest mistake of my entire life, you know?"

"Uh …." I stared at my shoes, as if the appropriate answer would somehow be revealed to me by the Morse code of my nervous foot tapping. "But … it's the most popular show on TV! It must be pretty good for your career … and … your bank account?" I finished with a little brow waggle, hoping to lighten the mood.

_Ohmigod! _Were the brow Olympics contagious? I was never real big on talking with my brows before.

My internal crisis was halted by Bill's whiny response. "Yeah, I mean it's definitely a successful show. I am grateful for that. But it's just … why do I have to be portrayed as the evil one? I'm a monster!"

Wow. I didn't even think to pack the Vampire Coping Strategies Manual on this trip. What the heck do you even say to that? "Oh, Bill. I—I think you're taking this a little too seriously. I don't really think fans look at you like that. You're like the dark and mysterious type. I mean, c'mon. People love vamps!"

"I just hate being portrayed as the bloodthirsty, unrepentant monster. I mean, look, at least Bjorn's character is conflicted about it—he hates being a vampire. Me—well, hell, I'm the one who turned poor, loveable Bjorn into an unwilling bloodsucker!"

I sat back and listened, giving him a nod here and a sympathetic smile there. It became clear that at least he seemed to just want to vent, as he was content to just go on … and on and on, requiring nothing of me but to sit through it.

Problem was, I was feeling worse by the second.

Finally, I decided that I couldn't take it any longer. I wasn't sure what was keeping Eric for so long, but I was done silently praying to be rescued. I felt just … off—woozy and lightheaded, like I had low blood sugar, or something.

Of course, jumping to my feet probably didn't do much to help the situation. I vaguely heard a chair scrape, somewhere that seemed like the very far distance. But then I realized I had caused that sound myself when I'd pushed it back in my rush to get up.

I mumbled a hasty and poorly constructed excuse. As I turned to leave, though, I noticed Eric seemed to have magically reappeared. He gave me a warm smile, but his eyes scanned me with what I could only classify as worry, and maybe … caring? I couldn't be totally sure, but I felt entirely too sick to try to figure it out right now.

His smile turned cool as he turned it on Bill. "C'mon Billy boy, can we cut the bitch fest? You're gonna make _me_ cry in a minute."

Bill responded with a simpering snort, followed by a snarl.

Unfortunately, I only had time to give Eric a ghost of a grateful smile before I started backing away as the taste of bile rose in my throat.

**XXX**

Bill was saying something, no doubt quite far from friendly, but his voice faded away as the pounding in my head took on a new, more throbbing intensity.

There was just no time to figure out where the restrooms were. So, instead, I made a beeline for the closest exit, which just happened to be the front entrance. I was grateful that I had spotted a fairly secluded side street before. Oh, and I was also extremely grateful that the cameras were far too busy with the pretty, shiny people to notice a regular old blonde (and really, that was like a commodity in L.A., whether real or from a bottle, wasn't it?).

I was able to make it a good distance into the dark alley before I collapsed in a mess of unlady-like heaves, resting a hand on the cool wall for support. My stomach felt like it was doing horrible summersaults, but the only result was spasms and an occasional dry heave.

I was too far gone to even notice, much less have any sort of reaction, to the hand that gathered my hair and held it back as my stomach convulsed. In fact, I still didn't notice that hand a few minutes later when the worst of it had subsided, and I was still trying to catch my breath. Somehow, it seemed perfectly natural that my hair was magically pulled out of my face as I stood there, doubled over in misery.

I'm not sure when I finally realized that EN was there, but it was one of those strange moments—where, by the time you think of saying something, it already seems like the moment has passed, and it would be ridiculous and awkward to speak.

At some point, he released my hair and gently massaged my neck while I still remained in my hunched over position, slowly returning to myself. When my pulse returned to a somewhat normal rate, I straightened up, gave him a watery smile, and promptly flattened my back against the wall, sliding down to the ground.

He slid down beside me and offered me a Listerine strip without uttering a word.

I was grateful for both.

He gave me a good long time—enough for the strip to do its magic, before he spoke.

"So?"

"So."

"You gonna spill?"

"I thought I just did," I said with a sheepish grin, but sobered up when I saw the way his brows knit together with concern. I was torn between scolding him like my Gran would have—that if he kept doing that he ran the risk of the lines becoming permanent—and wanting to reach out and smooth that adorable furrow.

"Wait a minute," he cocked his head, as if some light bulb had just gone off above him, before turning his gaze back on me. "You got sick like this once before, that first night I met you, at the FStop."

Uh oh. I was so busted. "Yeah, I, uh … you know what? I think they make drinks out here waaaay too strong. And sweet. So you don't realize just how much you've drunk, ya know?"

"Oh, Sookie, nice try, but no cigar. My bullshit meter is reading that as a definite 'false'," he said, shaking his head. "Oh, no, no. Let me guess … you're next line is that you haven't eaten much today?"

I swallowed hard, my eyes growing wide with horror and with the knowledge that I was so far up against the wall, unless I suddenly managed to gain spidey climbing skills, I would _have_ to spill.

He pressed on, relentless, as if he knew that he'd gained the advantage, and just needed to tap me slightly to push me over the proverbial edge. "That may have worked that other night, but since we _both_ just ate a couple of hours ago, you can't pull that shit this time."

I chewed on my lower lip as I tried to calm my breath and racing mind.

"I'm still waiting, Sookie," he voice came out extra husky, as if it was choked with emotion. I stole a glance, and was taken aback by the storm brewing in his eyes. I wasn't sure what was behind it, but it was obvious that his intent wasn't malicious; there wasn't a trace of the trademark EN smug amusement.

"I … w—well—" I stammered, then cleared my throat but flushed with embarrassment when it came out more like a choked-sobbing sound. "You have to promise not to laugh."

He took my hands in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. I dared another look to judge his reaction, since he hadn't spoken a word in response. I sucked in my breath at what I saw. There wasn't even a hint of a smirk, like I had expected. In fact, his expression was devoid of anything that could even be classified as judgmental or impatient or … _anything_, really. He just seemed to be waiting, but his unrelenting gaze made it clear that he was in no mood for evasive maneuvers, of any kind.

I took a deep shuddering breath, nodded more to myself than to him, and began. "Okay, well … my Gran always said that I was _sensitive," _I emphasized the word with an eye roll. "I can kinda sense people's emotions." I heard EN gasp beside me. This, of course, did nothing for my pounding heart, so I just plowed on, rambling. "But, I'm just easily affected by people's moods, is all. It's more of a pain in the neck than anything else, really." I finished with a shrug, and stole a glance at his reaction, looking up at him through my lashes.

Grasping my hands tighter, his eyes grew wide and he whispered, "You're an empath!"

"Huh?"

"An empath. You can sense people's feelings. That is … _amazing!_"

I giggled, mostly because he seemed to be so impressed with this 'ability' that I hated so much, but also because the most succinctword he could come up with to express his awe was "amazing". I shook my head. "Eric, it's not like I have a super power, or something. And, like I said, it's really been more of a pain than anything else."

"I would beg to differ." He stared at me, like he was literally trying to look _into_ me. I wanted him to look away. Hell, _I_ wanted to look away, but just couldn't. My skin broke out into a million goose bumps. After what seemed like a really long time, silent and breathless yet filled with the violent knocking of my heart against my chest—he muttered, "Oh my god. That explains it!"

I cocked my head in question.

"This is why you have such a … way, with capturing people. You are probably not even aware, but you must be connecting with them on a much deeper level." A smile spread over his lips as he paused to appraise me. "Regardless, you must come to see this as the rare gift that it is. This pain you are experiencing, it is probably just because you have not learned how to harness it properly."

_A rare gift? _

_Harness?_

I studied him carefully, trying to figure out if he was trying to pull some joke on me.

"Okay … what do you mean exactly by 'harness' it?"

"Have you learned any techniques to control your ability?"

I looked at him questioningly.

He gave me a kind, encouraging smile, untangling one of his hands from mine and using it to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. "Tell me, Sookie, what is it that causes this 'pain'?"

I shut my eyes tight and took a deep, rasping breath. "Well, it's like if someone is in a really down mood, it just really brings me down. Usually it just feels like all the air has been let out of me. A lot of times it also gives me a headache, or makes me woozy. But today—" I shuddered, unable to finish my sentence.

That was when I became aware of quiet (yet not quiet enough) chuckles, and when I opened my eyes, I could see Eric's shoulders shaking with his poorly concealed laughter. I yanked my hand away. "Hey! You promised you wouldn't laugh!"

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry, Sookie. Really I am. And I should have done a better job protecting you in there."

He reached for my hands again, and I grudgingly allowed him to hold them. But I scowled at the lopsided half-grin on his face. "Just what is so funny, Eric?"

The shaking of his shoulders tipped the Richter scale as he said, "So Bill was making you ill, huh?"

I howled with laughter, and Eric happily joined me. After a few good moments of tear-inducing cackles, he continued, "Bill is what you might term an emotional vampire."

My eyes grew wide, before I broke into side-splitting laughter again.

"Hey, it might sound funny, but it's true."

My smile faded fast at the serious look in his eyes. "What do you mean, it's true? I'm pretty sure Bill's not allergic to the sun or anything."

"Yeah, laugh it up. But that's exactly what he is. It's just that instead of sucking blood, he sucks your energy. He doesn't have his own happiness to sustain him, so he drains others'."

"Wow, you're totally serious, aren't you?" I wiped at the tears that had collected in the corners of my eyes. "But, how?"

"He just seeks out people who have that energy. In fact, it's not really anything conscious, most likely. He's probably just naturally drawn to people he can feed on, you know, like moths to a flame."

I sat, gape mouthed and wide eyed as Eric explained.

"Even if he was aware of what he was doing, he wouldn't be able to help himself. It's in his nature."

"Okay, I get your point, Eric. But, c'mon, he's like a downer Debbie, well, maybe downer Don? I mean, he can't _actually_ drain people's energy."

He nodded emphatically, and looked at me as if I were the crazy one for not believing in this urban fairy tale. "Sookie, I myself feel the drain when I am near him, especially when we do scenes together." He grimaced. "I can only imagine what it does to you. Anyways, because you are extra sensitive, you need to learn to shield yourself from people like Bill."

He let go of one of my hands and began to rub my shoulder, soothing the tension there as I mulled it over. I started to giggle, covering my mouth in an attempt to cover up my inappropriate amusement. When I raised my eyes to his and saw the exasperated annoyance there, I was able to regain control of myself. "Sorry, it's just that—well, he was just telling me how much he hates being portrayed as this evil, blood thirsty monster, but yet, he's a vamp in real life."

I don't know if it was what I said, or the intermittent eruptions of laughter that escaped from me, but he joined me, his broad shoulders shaking with his own laughter.

After a moment, I rose to my feet and offered him my hand. He took it, and, of course, I couldn't support his weight, so I fell onto him as he was straightening up. I put out my hand to cushion my fall, and it was now flattened against that dip in between his pecks. That damn euro-trash see-through shirt of his was so thin, I may as well have been touching his bare skin—not that I was complaining. My heart raced as I felt the hot skin and hard muscles of his abs below my hand. I yanked my hand away, even though it was a hundred times more painful than pulling off a band-aid.

I let out a nervous laugh and a mumbled apology. I wasn't entirely sure that I bought all that vampire stuff, but—I was beyond touched that EN had not only noticed my abrupt exit, but that he had also come to find me and had taken care of me in such a tender, non-judgmental way. I only hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching up and wrapping my arms around him.

"Thank you," I rose up on my tiptoes and breathed into his hair.

I felt his arms close around my waist, meeting at the small of my back.

Yes, I melted a little when I felt his arms swallow me up, and I might have pressed closer into him, burying my face into his hair. But, c'mon, can you really blame a girl? Aside from being freaking EN, and a damn Viking sex god to boot, he just smelled so unbelievably good. It was all I could do not to just sniff and curl up in his lap.

"What's this for?" he murmured.

"Hmm?" I disentangled myself and looked up at him.

He kept his hands at my hips, preventing me from escaping his grip. "You don't have anything to thank me for … yet."

I snorted and tried to move away from him by flattening my hands against his chest and pushing off.

Bad move. Very, very bad move.

All I effectively did was grab two handfuls of swoonalicious muscles. And, to top it off, his hands covered mine in under a millisecond, pressing them in harder as he peered into my eyes, waiting.

_Ohmanohmanohman. _I could take the smug sex-smirk. I could take the lusty-panty incinerating-tractor beams. But this? This raw, tender caring and concern? It was too much.

I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times before I was able to find the words, and the voice—to speak them.

"Thank you, Eric. Thank you." I took a moment to catch my breath. "Thank you for making me comfortable enough to share this with you. Thank you for not thinking I'm totally off my rocker. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for being so kind and understanding and gentle."

His mouth broke into a soft grin, but his eyes stayed level and intense, boring into mine. I reached up on my tiptoes and brushed a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

I turned to leave, but he kept his hands over mine, preventing me from moving very far. I looked up at him in question. He let go of my hands and reached for me, brushing my hair back before cupping my face—each of his hands swallowing up my cheeks. He leaned in, and I closed my eyes.

I waited. And waited. And waited.

What the heck? I opened my eyes, only to see his face inches from mine, the ice blue of his eyes fixed on me, almost as if in a trance. I swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. I was lost, utterly and completely lost. Time, or the world, seemed to be suspended, and all there was and all that there had ever seemed to be was the blue, blue, blue of his eyes. I felt his breath hot on my mouth and became aware that somehow our breathing had matched—I breathed in his exhale, and he pulled out my exhale.

As infinite as our stillness had seemed to stretch, so did our movement in the next moment. He pressed his lips to mine—and my entire existence became soft lips and hot tongue and tender caresses.

This was not the kiss I had expected from EN. I mean, it was apparent that he was extremely skilled; he could probably win some suck-face competition, hands—or, I guess lips—down. But this kiss was not demanding or rough or urgent. No, it was soft butterflies batting their wings in the sun. It was Princess Buttercup finally seeing her true love. It was whispers and sighs. It made rainbows spill from my heart and little blue birds circle around and chirp in my ear.

He rubbed his lips against mine, the gentle back and forth motion making me whimper and tremble. Just as he was pulling away, he captured my lower lip between his and sucked on it, letting out a deep groan before releasing it.

He untangled his hand from my hair, brushing it back as we both tried to catch our breath.

After what seemed like forever, I whispered in a husky voice I barely recognized as my own, "I'm ready."

He raised an eyebrow in question.

I slapped his shoulder playfully and giggled. "To _capture_ you," I teased, emphasizing the word 'capture' with air quotes.

He grinned and swung his arm around me, leading me back out toward the street. He wrapped his other arm around my waist and hid his face in my neck, so that we looked to all the world like yet another stumbling, drunken couple. But as we made our incognito escape, he whispered into my skin, just close enough to my ear so that I could clearly make out his words. "Oh, how I've waited to hear those words come out of those delicious lips of yours."

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_A/N: Ooooh… is Sookie finally ready to *ahem* __**yield**__ to our favorite Vamp hunk? *giggles* Reviews make EN even happier than Nutella. Just sayin' ;D_

_A/N A gazillon Nutella-flavored kissies to the bestest betas a fangirl could ever ask for,__** nycsnowbird**__and__** youbettago**__. _

_Any mistakes remaining are purely my own._

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas are mine all mine._


	17. Overexposure

A/N:_ Hellooo my lovelies! Okay, so … I just have to dedicate this one to my buttercup, __**Lilabitblf**__._

_A/N And, a quick pimp. Only 10 days left in the __**Dead Pan Contest**__!!!__ Pleeeeze go read & review! Pretty please? With Nutella slathered on top? *puppy dog eyes*_

**_http://www . fanfiction . net/community/Dead_Pan_Contest/78556/99/0/1/_**

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**CHAPTER 15:OVEREXPOSURE**

_When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence._

_~Ansel Adams_

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_**EPOV**_

I undid the bowtie and examined my handiwork. Pretty damn near perfect.

It had just enough wrinkle to it to give it the careless-disheveled look, and was the perfect finishing touch to my black velvet suit. It was a safe bet that both Sookie and her camera would not be able to resist this shit.

Thoughts and images from last night swirled through my head. Finding out Sookie was an empath certainly brought a lot of things into clearer focus, but that kiss ... shit. It was a fairly safe bet that it had made us both more than weak in the knees. Now, all I had to do was turn up that infamous Northman charm just a notch, and Sookie Stackhouse would tumble right over the edge.

Cocky much? Fuck, yeah**—**but only with good reason. After all, no one can break the laws of physics, not in real life anyways. And Sookie was about to run right into Northman's law of sexual gravitation—you can only fend off the pull for so long. There's empirical evidence on that shit. Look it up.

The doorbell snapped me out of my 'Sookie Finally Yields' show, but, as I headed downstairs, I had to work hard to ignore the way my heart was skipping like a damn crushin' schoolgirl.

When I opened the door, my mouth practically watered at the sight of sweet-as-apple-pie Sookie.

Either I was overdressed, or she was way underdressed—not that I minded either. I enjoyed the way her eyes drank me in as they raked up and down my body just as much as I was enjoying the sight of her in low-slung jeans and a clingy pale-pink top. That color set off her golden skin to absolute perfection, and the low neckline did the same for her phenomenal breasts. I found myself thinking that the material did seem kind of thin and hoping and praying that it would be just a little bit too cold outside.

"Hey, sexy," I purred as I stepped aside to let her in.

I heard her stifle a snicker as she walked past me.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," she mumbled and shrugged as she took a seat on the sofa. She looked up at me again and her face contorted with a smirk she was obviously trying to bite back.

"Okay, what's got you all a-gigglin' and a-snortin' there? Hmm?"

She was digging around in her bag for something, but I could see her shoulders were shaking with laughter. She finally looked up at me as she took out a roll of film and began to load it into her camera. "It's no big deal, Eric. Really," she said with laughter in the back of her throat while her hands deftly worked without even a glance at what they were up to. "I'm just … touched that you would dress up. Like, school-picture-day dress up."

"Yeah, yeah. Make fun all you want … but I know you're enjoying the view."

She shut the back of the camera and looked at me with a full-out grin. "I never said I wasn't."

Wow. _Saucy_.

This night was going to be more fun than I could have even hoped for.

**XXX**

"So …."

"So."

We stared at each other for a moment of unsure awkwardness, before we both burst into laughter. I stood up, offering her my arm and a smile. She took it and I led her outside. After depositing her in a seat, I grabbed the champagne bottle from the ice bucket it had been chilling in and popped the cork. As the bubbly foam spilled over, I heard her giggle behind me. Turning around and walking over to join her, I set the bottle down and sucked the champagne off my finger in exaggerated slow motion.

I was more than satisfied with the response.

Sookie's laughter died immediately as her eyes fixated on my mouth. I noticed her hands clutch the handle of her chair tight enough to cause the knuckles to go white and her mouth part, before she remembered herself enough to hide her reaction. I could practically feel the heat roll off her.

I gave her a wink and picked up the champagne. Palming the bottom of the bottle in one hand, I poured a glass and passed it to her. "Thirsty?"

Her eyes widened before she straightened in her seat and took the offered glass. "Oh, uh … yeah. Sure."

She slammed it down with one gulp. Impressive.

"So, shall we get started?"

"I'm ready whenever you are." I punctuated my answer with an eyebrow waggle.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay … well, where do you want to do this?"

My eyebrow shot up of its own accord, and she sucked in her breath and muttered something that sounded like a curse, though I couldn't make it out.

She cut me off just as I was about to respond. "Yeah, yeah. Am I gonna be able to say anything tonight that you won't twist around into something sexual?"

I answered her with my brightest choir-boy grin. And that's when the first snap went off.

I was caught a little bit off guard that she would take the first shot without even a word of warning, but I kind of liked it, too. It was almost like the camera was part of the sentence, like a punctuation or something. I lifted my own glass and tossed it down the hatch before grabbing her hand and heading down to the beach.

**XXX**

I lost track of how many roles of film she went through.

I gave her solemn and brooding, smoldering sex-god … and everything in between. Hey, I hadn't become Eric fucking Northman for nothing. I knew how to turn it on, and it was on full blast today. She didn't say much, but her occasional giggle and the rapid firing off of the camera shutter told me all I needed to know.

We walked back toward my house right as the sun was beginning to set. She stopped just short of the deck and sat down, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them as she looked at the clouds of red and orange through her camera.

Her hair surrounded her like a halo in the fading light of the sunset. I had to touch it, touch her.

I moved closer, watching her profile as I slid a hand into her hair and pulled it back, revealing the perfect curve of her neck. She did her best to stay still, but the goose bumps that sprung along her skin were a dead giveaway. It was irre-fucking-sistible.

I inched even closer, as close as I could get without touching her delicious skin, close enough so that when I spoke, my lips grazed against it. "So, when do _I_ get to capture _you_, Sookie?"

Feeling her tremble underneath my lips—well, it just made me want to feel her entire body tremble underneath me, around me.

She jumped to her feet and spun around to face me. "Oh, I don't think I could afford to hire you," she teased, but the huskiness in her voice betrayed her.

_Oh, but I think I already have captured you. I can see it in your shudders. _"I'm sure we could work something out," I purred as I lay back on the sand, crossing my arms behind my head.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she muttered, raising the barrier of the camera between us once again and snapping a few frames.

"So, would you like to get a few more shots out here?" I offered, turning onto my side and propping myself on my elbow. As I ran a hand through my hair, I added, "I could strip for you."

She snorted. "Uh … whatever makes you more comfortable."

The temperature had obviously dropped in the last few minutes, and it had nothing to do with the cool evening breeze. Hoping that a little show would heat her up again, I gave her my best smirk and eyebrow wiggle combo and began to undo the buttons of my shirt. That didn't seem to get me anywhere, aside from the occasional click of the shutter.

So I pulled out all the guns. I pounced forward, moving into a kneeling position as I dug my hands into the sand and stared up at her, turning up the heat in my eyes to panty-scorching.

The rate of clicks definitely seemed to increase.

I threw my head back, shaking my hair back and forth so that when I returned my gaze back to her it fell in a disheveled, bed-head mess around my face. Never taking my eyes off her, I tore the jacket off, and yanked my suspenders down, leaving them hanging at my sides. The shirt followed not even a second later, but I left the white wife-beater on, well aware of just what a peak of clavicle tended to do to the female population.

Sookie snapped another picture and then dropped the camera to her side.

I was ready for her to molest me with her eyes.

Or, even better, to drop down to her knees and binge at the Northman gourmet buffet. I would gladly give her all-you-can-eat privileges.

But I was far from ready for the words that floated down at me from her perfect little lips.

"You hungry?"

_Oh, you bet your fine little ass, I'm hungry. Ravenous. Insatiably so._

"Yeah, I think we're done here. Let's go grab something to eat." She tossed the camera strap over her shoulder and started walking toward my house.

_Motherfucking hell._

As I followed behind her, I couldn't stop from thinking that even though my kitchen was stocked with plenty of choices, I would not be feasting on what I was really craving. Whatever it ended up being, it sure as hell wasn't going to be in the food group I'd had in mind.

**XXX**

"So do you think you got some good shots?" I asked as watched her lean back on the couch, covering her content stomach with her hands.

She gave me a sidelong glance followed by an unimpressed little grunting sound. "Uh … I wouldn't suggest holding your breath."

I tried to disguise my shock. I mean, I did put on the full Northman charm offensive—there were sure to be plenty of good choices. "C'mon, Sookie. I'm sure you're being too hard on yourself."

"Actually, no. I'm usually right when it comes to these things."

I stewed for a good long minute, working to swallow equal doses of shock and irritation. "So, is there anything in particular that makes you so certain of this?"

"Do you really want to know?" She crossed her arms defensively as she met my gaze.

"Please, do enlighten me."

She searched my face and gave a long, heavy sigh. "You were doing your whole EN routine again."

"My _EN_ routine?"

"Yeah, the Mr. Hollywood heartthrob thing. The sex smirk that could win an Olympic event, if there was one," she paused, taking another deep breath as she looked at me from behind eyes that seemed to be full of sadness and … if I had to place it, I'd say regret, even. "You know—a wink here, a brow waggle there … and panties go poof everywhere."

She gave me a small, apologetic smile that mirrored the emotion of her eyes, before continuing, "The thing is—I _know_ there's more to you than that, Eric. Okay, maybe I didn't think so at first, but now I do know. I saw it, last night. But you've been 'shielding' yourself, as you call it, for so long now, I wonder if you even know how to BE just Eric."

She took another deep breath that did absolutely nothing to calm the storm in her eyes. "Look, Eric, when you first asked me to do these photos of you, you said you wanted me to _capture_ you. But now, after all this … I have to wonder. Can you even let yourself be captured?"

I was glad that I was sitting down, because otherwise I was sure that I would have stumbled back as her words—no, scratch that, her _accusations_, and to be perfectly honest, her spot-on observations—cut into me.

The flash of her camera going off snapped me out of it.

She set her camera down in her lap and reached out for me, placing her hand on my shoulder and rubbing her thumb in soothing circles, both assuring and inquiring at once. Her brows were furrowed with worry, and my own pain was reflected back at me in her glistening eyes.

"Why do you wear a mask?" she whispered.

I had to smile at the quote; I knew it well. When we'd had a discussion about favorite movies a few nights ago, she had admitted to the Princess Bride being her all time favorite, and I had told her how that was the one movie I'd thoroughly regretted turning down. I explained to her how much I'd wanted to take that offer, but that at the time, I was already in the middle of another project—shooting in Sweden, no less—so I had to give it a pass.

After she got over the shock that I was offered that role, we spent the better part of an hour reciting favorite lines—I knew them since I'd had to learn many of them for my audition, and, what can I say? They struck a chord. Hey, it really was an excellent piece of film making.

Her voice, soft yet determined, brought me back to the present. "Is it because you were burned?"

My head snapped up to take her in, our eyes locking on each other's. "Well, they are comfortable," I paused, swallowing hard at my rage. I wasn't sure if I was more angry at her or at myself, but I promptly decided that I didn't really give a shit which it was. "Aren't they, Sookie?"

She retracted her hand, wincing as if she was burned. "What?"

"Aren't they comfortable? You know, so easy to hide behind? And far too easy to get used to."

Confusion and hurt clouded her face, immediately replaced by fire sparking in her eyes and snarling at her lips. "Look, I don't know what the hell you're talking about—"

"Oh, spare me," I cut her off.

Fuck. That hurt behind her eyes—as much as she tried to conceal it, I could still see it—it made my fucking chest hurt. Oh, this was not good. I was so beyond fucking screwed.

I took a deep breath before continuing. "Look, Sookie, it just seems to me that whenever things get a bit too, uh … close for comfort, you lash out with some bitchy snark. Have you considered that maybe that's _your_ shield? Or mask, or whatever you want to call it."

I snuck a peek at her face to gauge her reaction, and immediately wished I hadn't. Her lower lip was trembling, and she pursed her lips together trying to still the tell-tale signs of her emotions. But her eyes betrayed her. One lone tear toppled over the line of her lashes and fell onto her cheek.

Without another thought, I was at her side, wiping the tear away with my thumb as my hand cradled her cheek. She leaned into my hand and her own hand flew up to cover mine, meeting my eyes and melting my fucking black ass heart before her lashes fluttered down and away, slamming down that goddamn fortress again.

"Well, I should get going …." she mumbled as she shot up to her feet, clutching her camera to her chest like it was a damn teddy bear and rushing to the kitchen, where she'd left her purse earlier.

Just fucking fucktastic.

I followed her with my eyes as she all but ran past me to the door. She paused, looking back at me over her shoulder with a hand on the handle. "Look, Eric. I really am sorry if what I said hurt you. That most definitely was not what I wanted. I just—well, I dunno," she shrugged her shoulders and looked away. "I honestly am sorry if it did. But, anyways, I'm just gonna need a few days to work on these and then I should have something for you to take a look at. I'll call you."

And with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes and another shrug, she walked out the door.

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_A/N: Oh, c'mon! Y'all didn't reeeeally think it was gonna be that easy, did ya? Now press that green button and tell me what you thought._

_A/N A gazillon Nutella-flavored kissies to __**chiisai-kitty **who beta'd this at vamp speed for my antsy li'l ass._

_Any mistakes remaining are purely my own._

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas are mine all mine._


	18. Depth of Field

A/N:_ Only 5 days left in the __**Dead Pan Contest**__!__ Pleeeeze go read & review! _

_**http//www . fanfiction . net/community/Dead_Pan_Contest/78556/99/0/1/**_

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**CHAPTER 16:DEPTH OF FIELD**

_When I say I want to photograph someone, what it really means is that I'd like to know them. Anyone I know I photograph._

_~Annie Leibovitz_

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I hung up the last batch of prints I had just finished developing and then sat down at my desk, looking over the set of photos that I was planning on showing Eric tonight.

It had been almost a week since the photo shoot. When I left that night, I'd told Eric that I would need a few days to work on the photos I'd taken, and he had been incredibly patient with me. I finally called him yesterday, asking him if he wanted to come over today to look them over, and we agreed that he would come over in the evening.

I was quite relieved that he seemed to be in a good mood, and even excited to see the pictures. It was certainly a change from the very somber mood I'd left him in, so I was glad I hadn't caused any permanent damage.

I had to admit though, I'd been more than a little scared to challenge him. I mean, he was Eric freaking Northman, after all. But I had never shied away from telling someone exactly what was on my mind—and I wasn't about to start now. Not even for EN. _Especially_ not for EN. As much as I may have swooned over him like any other self-respecting fangirl, it was that other side of him—it was Eric—who had really made my heart go a-pitter-patter. And he was the reason why, that night, I'd taken a deep breath and continued, no matter how hurtful my words might have been.

Hey, it's like they say, 'no pain, no gain'.

I knew it could—and probably would—come off as totally bitchy, but I had to try; had to see if I was right, had to see if I could make him _really_ see. But after I'd uttered those words, what I saw made me all but shatter into a million pieces. I wanted so much to just reach out to him, cradle him in my arms, comfort him, tell him everything would be fine—hell, even take it back, if it would take away the pain I saw flash across his beautiful face.

Instead, I did what I always do. I let my camera do the talking, and snapped away.

Of course, I never expected him to give me a taste of my own bitter medicine. But, on the other hand, it made me care for him all that much more, after having a few days to cool off, of course.

It was what I loved and hated most about photography; being in the darkroom, with nothing to keep me company but negatives of time, slowly seeping into me as the images revealed themselves on the developing paper—well, it definitely gave me plenty of alone time with my thoughts. I relished the luxury of being able to digest it all at my own pace, even as I loathed the fact that in here, there was really nothing else to keep my mind occupied.

Now, as I stared at that last photograph I'd taken, I hoped desperately that when I shared it with Eric, he would be able to see it as the gift it was meant to be.

**^V^**

The ringing of the doorbell snapped me out of my reverie. I quickly stuck the picture at the bottom of the pile before rushing down the stairs to get the door.

Of course, he took my breath away, as always. The man seriously made inanimate objects like goddamn fabric fall in love with him—even casual denim and cotton seemed to favor him more than any other man I'd ever seen. I mean, really, he was just wearing dark-wash jeans and a charcoal gray t-shirt, and I had to fight to keep my breath steady and my pulse to a normal resting rate.

"Hey," he said, leaning his forearm against the door and resting his head on it.

"Hey," I answered, opening the door wider and motioning for him to come in.

I called over my shoulder as I headed toward the kitchen, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll just have whatever you're having," his voice was close behind me, making me way happier than it really should.

I opened the fridge and took out the pitcher of lemonade I'd made earlier, setting it on the counter. After pouring a glass for each of us, I turned around and handed him one, forcing my hand not to linger an inappropriate length of time as it brushed his when he took the glass from me. "Well, shall we get right down to business then?"

He arched a brow, his lips turning up into a lopsided grin. "As you wish."

I giggled and nodded. "C'mon."

I led him upstairs, motioning for him to sit at the desk, but he ignored me and walked over to the laundry line of hanging prints.

I watched the broad slope of his shoulders and back as he walked along the line of photos, shaking occasionally when he chuckled softly with amusement. After giving him a few minutes, I cleared my throat.

He spun around, his blue eyes somehow impossibly bluer as they positively sparkled with amusement. He fixed me with one of those thousand watt smiles that surely must have the ability to cause a power outage—wasn't that a problem here in southern California? I had to wonder if he had been responsible for any of those outages. Shaking my head to clear it of this ridiculous line of thinking, I tried to refocus his attention on the task at hand. "C'mon, don't you want to see how your pictures came out?"

He relented and motioned for me to lead the way.

When we were seated next to each other at the L-shaped workspace, I picked up the pile of photos and straightened them. I stood the pile up between us so he could only see the back of it, while I tried to gather my thoughts, glancing between the top most photograph and Eric several times before getting up the guts to thrust the first photo in front of him.

I studied him closely, watching for the slightest hint of a reaction as I fought hard against the urge to chew on my lip. For once, this actually had nothing to do with _who_ was sitting in front of me, but rather, _what_ we were doing; this was technically my first real photography gig—I'd never been this invested in my subject actually liking my work. In theory, I didn't much like the idea of changing my work to make someone else happy, but I found that, with Eric, I really did want him to like it, more than just approve it.

When his mouth broke into a pleased grin and he picked up the photo to examine it more closely, I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I was holding. I was being silly, I told myself, and continued to pass more photos to him.

He laughed quite loudly at several of the photos, and I was happy to see that he realized how over the top some his playboy poses had been.

I held on to that last photograph, though, stalling for as long as I could. I finally made myself do it when I heard him set down the last print he had in his pile, sliding it off to the side as his gaze bore into me. Letting out a heavy sigh, I raised my eyes to meet his and handed him the print. "This one is definitely my pick."

His lips turned up into that trademark smug and sex-drenched EN smirk—that is, until he saw the image. Any trace of amusement disappeared from his face as his eyes widened and went from sparkling with excitement to shining with emotion. Every visible muscle in him tightened—his eyebrows knit together, his jaw and neck muscles pinched, and even the hand that was holding on to the print tightened its grip.

He jumped up before I even had a chance to open my mouth and utter another word, pushing his chair back with a horrible screeching sound that made the silence that followed seem all the more louder. When I finally worked up the courage to look up again, he had his back turned to me, his shoulders were hunched over and his free hand was clenched into a fist at his side as he wrestled with whatever demons were taunting him from the shadows of that photograph.

Of course, I knew what he was seeing … those familiar perfect features—high cheekbones, square jaw, strong brows—the geometry of beauty, stripped bare in a moment when he was forced to look, really look, in the mirror; not _at_ it, but _into_ it. That mirror that he had learned to look past, only focusing on its surface to primp those smooth features of his into Hollywood gold, now reflected that truth back at him.

But what I didn't expect was to suddenly know so clearly what he was feeling … and to feel it myself.

In fact, I was almost knocked back by the pain that flooded into me. _His pain._

I was on my feet and at his side in an instant. I wanted to make sure he was alright, but there were no words that my mouth—or heart—were capable of committing to, so I just placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping he would understand what I wasn't able to say out loud.

But that one touch seemed to all but break him. I felt him fall apart under my touch—his whole body releasing and jerking violently before tensing up again as he tried to hold himself together.

I swallowed down the sob that threatened to tear out of my own throat and grasped his shoulder, tugging at it so that he would turn around. He did, but kept his face down, hidden.

"Eric," I whispered, cupping his face with my hands and gasping when I felt the wetness there—not because it surprised me, but because it cut me. Deep.

I turned his face toward mine and raised up on my tiptoes, grazing my lips against each cheek with the lightest of touches. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh and my heart ached all over again, but this time in a good way.

I pulled back, brushing the remainder of his tears away with my thumbs. I stared up at his beautiful face, mesmerized by his perfectly sculpted lips, when his eyes fluttered open. We stared at each other for a breathless moment—just like we had that night in the alley behind the Chateau Marmont—but now there was so much more there, so much that I could see, that he let me see, in them.

I pulled him to me, pressing my lips to his with hard and unapologetic force, sucking and rubbing and begging for him to open up to me. He groaned into my mouth as his lips parted for me, the sensation making me tremble and press even closer to him.

He felt and tasted so good—I just wanted to fall right into him and be swallowed whole. Instead, I settled for doing the oral tango, twirling and dipping and teasing with my tongue.

I felt his hands wrap around my shoulder right before he pushed me back, pulling us apart. His eyes were dark with the need that he was trying to shake off as he held me at a distance; asking and demanding all at once. "Sookie—"

I shushed him, putting my finger to his lips and shaking my head, overriding whatever worries or obstacles he was thinking of voicing.

His eyes grew perceptibly darker right before he crashed his lips to mine, eliciting a moan from me at his fast and rough response, one that he eagerly swallowed up into his greedy, sucking lips. And then his hands were at my hips and he was pushing us back, pressing his mouth and body into me as he none-so-gently slammed us into the wall.

I didn't really care. Yeah, somewhere deep down my brain registered it as pain that would probably leave a bruise, but I was far too focused on the advantages of our new surroundings, namely that every part of his very demanding body was pressed so closely against me that it was sure to leave an imprint.

He lowered his face to my neck as he cupped my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples, making them instantly hard. I arched into his hands, gasping for breath and for more of him, tangling my fingers in his hair and shoving his head down to my chest.

He obliged, and I could feel his hot breath getting lower and lower, closer and closer, until he closed his mouth around my nipple and bit on it roughly. The sensation of his teeth through the soft, thin fabric of my worn cotton t-shirt was just too much—I cried out, digging my hands even further into his hair and bucking up against him.

When he answered me with a groan of his own I totally lost it. I hitched a leg around his waist, desperate for more of that delicious yet unbearable friction, clutching and rubbing and pressing into him.

But it still wasn't enough. I wanted more, the most, all of it and then some—and he certainly wasn't objecting, judging by the sounds coming out of him.

I reached down between us and undid his pants, while he returned the favor. Slipping my hands underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, I grabbed that infamous much-ogled-over ass and pulled him to me. He let out a growl as he rested his palm flat against the wall right beside my head.

And then he had to go and find that spot. _My spot_. He captured the very bottom of my earlobe in his mouth, nudging it gently between his lips before nipping at it and flicking his tongue behind it. I closed my mouth around the certain patch of his shoulder that happened to be within easy reach, the pleasure ripping through me as I ground into him, guiding his ass against me to match my movements.

And holy mother of … UNNNNF. The sheer size of his hardness, pressing into me, made me rethink that whole theory of proportionality. He obviously broke that equation by leaps and bounds. I pulled him closer, craving the feel of every exquisite inch of him as we swayed against each other.

He let out a rapid string of what could have been either curses or sweet nothings in his native tongue—I really didn't know and didn't care, as long as that tongue was on me. A moment later, I felt him at my entrance, and I gave his ass another none-too subtle shove, showing him exactly how ready I was for him, for this. He buried himself deep into me in one extremely long, Viking-sized thrust.

We both stayed perfectly still, our panting breaths loud against the silence of the room and hot against each other's skin. Our eyes met once again, and what I saw there shook me to my very core. He lay bare in front of me, underneath me, and all I wanted was to fill my arms, _my_s_elf_ with him.

He remained frozen where he was, waiting.

My hands flew to his face, caressing him softly as my thumbs smoothed the furrow that had formed between his brows.

"Eric, I've got you," I whispered, our mouths a mere inches apart but still entirely too far away for my liking. I lowered his face to mine, but left the last bit of distance between us for him to close. "I've got you."

He pressed his lips to mine, crushing me between the hard wall and his even harder body, grabbing my hands and intertwining our fingers before raising them together, stretching my arms high above my head. I was splayed out, the position of my arms forcing me to arch against him in the most delicious way, as he thrust into me with hard, determined strokes, gripping my hands more tightly as he pounded into me. He rested his forehead against mine, and I was trapped in the impossible blue of his eyes, my gasps matching every one of his groans as he moved deeper and deeper into me.

But still I needed more.

So I raised my leg up a little, tilting my pelvis as I adjusted the grip of my thigh around him. We both felt it at the same time, shuddering with the increased contact the new angle provided, allowing him to move even deeper within me while rubbing up against all the right spots on the way there. He buried his face in my neck as he began to slam into me with renewed urgency. Lowering our arms so that we were stretched out together like an x-rated _Vitruvian_man, we were a tangle of writhing, trembling, twisting bodies, stretched out on the verge of our intimate precipice, only one breath, one moan, one stroke away from tumbling over.

I just grabbed onto dear life, clutching and digging into his massive hands as the waves of pure, blinding hotness rocked through me, indistinguishable sounds spilling out from both our mouths as we spilled into and onto each other.

His body went limp all around me as we both rode out the aftershocks. After what seemed like an eternity of pure bliss, yet not nearly long enough, he raised his head and rested his forehead on mine as he pressed my palm over his heart. He stared into my eyes, and the intensity of his gaze, at such proximity—well, I would have melted, if I hadn't already been reduced to an (extremely sticky and ridiculously happy) puddle of goo.

"Thank you," he murmured, his breath hot on my lips.

I didn't have to ask him what he was thanking me for—it shone in his eyes.

So I just cupped his cheeks and smiled at him, before raising my mouth to his.

As our lips met, soft and unhurried, he untangled my legs from around his waist and eased himself out of me. I whimpered at the loss of him, but his talented tongue soon made it up to me. He turned us around, so that his back was now against the wall, and slowly slid us down to sit on the floor as he cradled me in his arms.

When we broke apart, I wrapped my arms around his neck and laid my head on his shoulder. Looking up at him from underneath heavy-lidded eyes, my mouth twisted into a smirk. "Oh, trust me, the pleasure was all mine."

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_A/N:Awww… they finally deedz it! *giggles* So, yes, it's true. This is the last chapter of FStop, aside from an epilogue. I had originally planned to have this be the halfway point actually, but I figured, these kids deserved a little time to enjoy their HEA, no? So, I decided to split it into a sequel. The sequel is all outlined, and I might even include a teaser with the epilogue? If you want me to do that, you could leave me one of those reviews I lurrrve so much, and tell me so. Just sayin' ;D_

_Oh, and btw, I did start a new story you might want to check out. It's set 6 months after D&G, but is kind of a flip of book4. __Sookie is just about to start her life with Sam and get away from all the crazy vampire shit, when she finds herself running down a dark country road._ _.dun … check it out on my profile._

_A/N A gazillon Nutella-flavored kissies to __**nycsnowbird **__who beta'd this for me, as well as spent countless hours throughout this story holding my hand when I needed it and kicking my ass into shape too, when called for, lol._

_I did make quite a few tweeks though after she got it back to me, so any mistakes remaining are purely my own._

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas are mine all mine._


	19. Epilogue: Photo Finish

_A/N: Hello my lovelies! Yes, yes, here it is. The final chapter … until the sequel, that is! As per your kind and numerous requests, I have included a nice long sneak peek for the 1__st__ chapter of the sequel at the bottom. _

_Just a head's up: this chapter will make a WHOLE lot more sense if you refresh your memory and skim through chapter 3 (Double Exposure). It __**has**__ been a really long time since I posted it :)_

_A gazillon thanks to my amazing betas, __**nycsnowbird **__and __**youbettago**__**. **__Y'all are just the best the bestest beta's a girl could ever wish upon a fanfic star for! _

_*blows Nutella kissies*_

_As always, any mistakes remaining are purely my own. And, of course, I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood._

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_**EPILOGUE: PHOTO FINISH**_

_And I'm getting the picture  
Yeah I'm getting the picture_

"_Getting the Picture"_

_~Jimmy Buffett_

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I woke up in my new favorite place to do so—in Eric's arms.

Well, he was more sprawled all over me than anything else—with an arm thrown across me and a leg between my own. Same difference. I enjoyed a stretch and the view before realization struck me; the film I'd developed last night had to be dry by now, and ready for printing.

I couldn't wait to develop these photos, and nothing—not even the gorgeousness of EN's sleeping form, could stop me. Stealing one last glance at his utter perfection, I slipped from his grasp. His half-conscious whimpers of protest were hard to resist, but somehow I managed. After throwing on the first clean clothes I could get my hands on—which just happened to be a pair of draw-string lounge pants and my Team Vamp T-shirt—I grabbed a large mug of coffee and headed to the studio.

Hey, what can I say? I wasn't one to change for a man, even one as persuasive as Eric Northman. When it came to Fiends, it was no competition—I was still Team Vamp all the way.

**^V^**

In the green light of the darkroom, losing myself in a trance induced by the hypnotic rhythm of ticking timers and thumping trays, I still could not believe that this was really my life. It just sounded too much like a ridiculous fangirl daydream—too far-fetched even for a Hollywood movie.

I was going to be starting on my second professional photography gig next week. After my first client was more than satisfied with my (professional!) work, and after Pam had seen the photographs for herself, she informed me—with her typical smug swagger, I might add—that she could easily find me more gigs if I was interested. Her exact words, in fact, were "as many as my little heart desired". I have to admit, I didn't quite believe her, until she called me the next day to schedule my next job.

Or, 'pencil it in', as the L.A. term for it was, I guess. If I was going to be staying here, I should probably learn to speak the lingo.

At Pam's insistence, I was going to be staying at the loft for the duration of my time in L.A., with a darkroom at my disposal that was pretty much every photographer's wet dream.

Oh, and did I mention that as of this moment, EN was sleeping in the next room?

I tried to focus on the image that slowly emerged from the paper in front of me, photographic proof that I wasn't really dreaming.

Instead, as EN's award-winning ass formed shape on the paper, I was instantly carried away to the moment I'd finally gotten my butt shot.

The first time I'd woken up to find Eric in the bed beside me, a few days ago, I just couldn't resist the opportunity to take a snapshot. He simply looked so delicious—sprawled out on his back with his golden hair fanned all around him, the pink silk sheet tangled around his legs, reaching up to his waist and accentuating that mouthwatering V of his. Yums.

Plus, the camera was right there within my reach, on my nightstand.

So I sneaked out of the bed and took a picture. Of course, as soon as the shutter clicked, his eyes fluttered open. When his eyes finally managed to focus, he fixed me with that famous EN smirk.

I lowered the camera, meeting his eyes with a shy smile. "Mornin' sleepy-head."

"It is now," he purred in a voice husky with sleep, stretching his arms above his head. His mischievous grin was downright devilish as my eyes involuntarily followed the sheet's downward descent. "Don't stop on account of me, _lover_."

I swear to god, he purred. He didn't speak—he purred like a goddamn kitten. A sex kitten. Ugh. I was so screwed when it came to this man. Kitten. Whatever.

I wasn't sure if it was my mouth or my head that had stopped working, but my eyes were too damn busy to care much about figuring out the details of the malfunction.

He turned to his side, the sheet dropping even further to reveal his entirely naked backside. "Don't you think we're on buttshot terms already?" he winked at me over his shoulder before turning away with a chuckle.

Well if you insist … don't mind if I do.

And now, staring at the resulting image … I was certainly glad that I took him up on his cheeky offer.

Two very warm, very large hands woke me from my reverie as they latched onto my hips. Before I could even fully process what was happening, I felt one arm wrap around my waist as the other hand gathered my hair and pulled it aside, clearing the path for one deliciously stubbly chin to nestle into the crook of my neck.

Why was this so sickeningly familiar? I shut my eyes tight, silently praying to the god of all porntastically swoonalicious fangirl fantasies that this was not a dream.

"Mmm …" his husky moan vibrated all over me—inside and out. "Looks like you got a good shot, lover."

His hot breath against my ear robbed me of all remaining brain function, resulting in a strangled half-moan-half-grunt of agreement from me.

His soft chuckle made the shivers travel all the way down to my ever-traitorous hootchie, and I swear to god—the damn thing twitched. Yes, all the man had to do was breath on me, and he gave me a goddamn hootchie-twitch.

Was that like the female equivalent of an erection? I wondered.

After his quaking—as well as my own—died away, he continued in that sexy-as-all-hell husky sleep-drenched voice of his, "I _am_ quite pleased that I couldcontribute to the Visual Aids file."

My eyes shot open. So he _had_ looked inside my Toibocks; I had always suspected he might have. Sneaky little fiend. Er, well … not so little, but you know what I mean.

"Me too," I finally managed to reply. "This one will definitely have to go to the top of the pile."

Oh, he definitely liked that answer. I could tell, both from his appreciative laughter, as well as his very insistent Mr. Happy, poking its smile into my backside. In fact, I might have to change that name to Mr. Ecstatic. Heck, maybe even Mr. Cloud Nine.

He trailed his hands along my arms, stopping when he reached my own hands, enclosing them with his own. I leaned into him, no longer able, or even wanting, to support my own body weight.

"So how much longer?" he breathed against my skin.

Huh. I was just wondering the same thing. I mean, I'd been shocked when I first saw, and felt, the sheer size of him, but now … was it possible that he could grow even larger? Was this a morning thing? Well good morning to _me_, indeed.

"Lover?"

"Oh! Yeah. Um … I think it's ready." _As am I, my Viking. As. Am. I._

The loud buzzing of the timer seconded my call, much to my chagrin.

I reached over to turn it off, pushing my butt out and using Eric's lap as leverage and even throwing in a little wiggle. The string of curses that my move elicited put a big ol' grin on my face, one which I couldn't resist turning toward him. I caught a glimpse of his gorgeous profile and that golden hair, so close to my own color, especially with the new matching highlights, as I whispered a quick and admittedly somewhat smug "thanks" before returning my attention to the task at hand .

As I picked up the tongs, I was thrown a bit off guard when Eric did not relinquish his hold on my hand. Instead, our hands remained fused together as I fished the photo out and held it over the tray, letting the excess fluid drip off.

"Now what?"

Staring at a picture of my own personal Viking sex god—in all his naked glory—while having said sex god wrapped around me, pressing and rubbing and breathing all over me … well, it wasn't very conducive to keeping my voice in working order, not to mention my panties. I swallowed hard a few times, trying to somehow provide enough moisture for my voice not to totally crack. Which was fine, because I needed the time to figure out the damn answer.

Reaching over to set the timer, I managed to explain what the next step was in the development process as we submerged the picture and began to rock the tray together.

"Mmm …." he purred into my neck, nuzzling as he matched the rhythm of our hands with his hips. "I do love watching you work."

I moaned, my head rolling back into his chest as I gave myself up to the heavenly sensations, matching his movements with shameless grinding of my own. "Just another thing we have in common, I guess … though, I'm definitely not the only one who enjoys watching you _hard_ at work."

Hardy har har. Two could play at this game, mister.

He made a sound that could only be described as a feral growl. I could hear as well as feel it, rumbling from his chest to his throat, before his teeth found my ear and tugged. Not too hard, but just hard enough to make me almost lose it. The torturous flicking of his tongue that followed did not help the situation much. Well, at least I had a nice steady counter in front of me, the better to hold onto.

Saved by the bell again. Or was I ? I wasn't so sure I really wanted saving.

He groaned against me, releasing me as he went to shut it off. Whimpering at the loss of him, I decided to keep myself occupied and walked over to hang the photo on the clothespin line that already held several others.

Suddenly, my feet no longer touched the ground. I let out a squeal before bursting into fits of giggles, as Eric bear-hugged me from the back and lifted me up, burying his head into my hair. Flipping me around, he wrapped my legs around his waist, and I mirrored the motion with my hands clasped around his neck.

He pressed his forehead to mine, grinning at me from ear to ear. It was the kind of grin that sucked in all the light and air and space into it, becoming the only thing you could see; the kind that you didn't even realize you were returning until your cheeks were hurting. He looked behind me, scanning the row of photos and then returned to rest his forehead on mine, his lips mere fractions of an inch from my own. Even that distance was unbearable to me, but when I tried to do something about it, he held me off with a playful nip.

After my giddy giggles died down a little, he whispered, "Enjoying the view?"

"Mmmhmm …." I grazed my lips against his, tangling my fingers in his hair as I all but lost myself in his eyes. "Tremendously."

We stared at each other for one of those infinite, dreamy fractions of a second, but when our lips met I lost all sense of where we were or where I ended and he began; one moment, all I knew was hot tongues and probing lips and searing, overwhelming heat … and the next, I found myself slammed hard against a wall—for the second time in less than a week.

Not that I was complaining.

Warm, soft lips and rough whiskers traced the line of my jaw and neck, mirroring the descending path of his hands along my waist, when suddenly, everything just stopped.

He leaned his cheek against mine as his hands traveled hesitantly along the waistband of my pants, pausing halfway toward the center, where he hooked two fingers just inside. Then, he began to rub his cheek against mine. Like … a kitten? I was half-expecting him to start all-out purring, but he just kept going like he was, and I was enjoying the coarse tickling of his stubble far too much to do anything to stop him.

"Sookie?"

His voice was soft yet demanding, but he hadn't stopped rubbing our cheeks together. He did, however, begin to move his fingers back and forth—inside my pants and against my skin, as if asking as much with his hands as with his voice.

"Eric?" I wasn't sure what he was asking of me, but I was willing to bet that my answer would not be even remotely related to no.

"Is there a dress code in your darkroom?"

"Huh?" I drew back from him, my mind still trying to turn over where the hell that question had come from, when I noticed what he was wearing.

Well, he wasn't wearing much—and he wore it well. In fact, the only thing he had on was a pair of very snug plaid boxers. And when I say snug, I mean … Yikes. Yahoo. Yuuuums.

"Why? Did you want to know if, uh … _plaid_ was acceptable?" I couldn't stifle the laughter that bubbled out of me.

The man had an undeniable obsession with plaid. Not that I was complaining, seeing as how delicious he always managed to make it look.

"No. Plaid is always _more_ than acceptable," he scoffed, as if it was too preposterous to even pose that question. "Especially on me."

I sighed heavily, throwing a hand over my forehead for effect. "As much as it pains me to feed your already overstuffed ego, Mr. Northman, I _would_ have to agree with you there."

My eyes travelled south to his plaid-clad ass with undisguised hunger.

"Well, then, Miss Stackhouse … I believe that only leaves us with one little problem, then."

"And that would be?" I replied without so much as budging my eyes from the prize.

Hey, you know the saying. I wasn't normally one to believe in old wives' tales, but I also wasn't taking any chances.

"In my opinion, you are entirely too overdressed."

And with that, he made quick work of our 'little problem'. He set me down, slipped off my pants and dropped to his knees before I could say Team Human. All. The. Damn. Way.

Running his hands up my thighs, he hitched one leg over his shoulder and looked up at me with a sweet-as-Nutella smile. "Now isn't that much more comfortable?"

He punctuated his words by palming an ass cheek in each hand and squeezing, before using his newly acquired leverage to open me up to him.

All I could do was moan and nod in not-so-silent assent.

He nuzzled into the ultra sensitive skin of my inner thigh, hanging on to me tightly to still my trembling. When he started to rub his lips in an excruciatingly slow upward path, I had to grab onto his shoulders to brace myself.

"Mmm … yes. Much better," his breath was hot and delicious against me. "I do _so_ love it when I'm right."

At this point, I was beyond words, beyond cares. I just clutched my hands around him tighter and waited.

I didn't have to wait very long.

I felt his breath on my most sensitive spot a mere instant before his very talented mouth descended on it.

And if I thought his mouth was talented—well, it paled in comparison to his tongue.

In fact, as he reduced me to whimpers and shivers of ecstasy, the only remaining brain function I had left was suddenly devoted to thinking that EN's tongue definitely needed its own Twitter identity, if it didn't already have one. Or, at least one of those Facebook fan pages—it was entirely too talented not to be worshiped by the adoring masses. Even though, I was really hoping that at least for the near future, said tongue would be worshipping me. _Exclusively_.

But, as my mind and body began to melt into a puddle of blissed-out goo under his attentions, the eerie feeling of déjà-vu hit me all at once, like a ton of bricks.

This was _entirely_ too familiar.

As the realization struck me, I sucked in a terror-stricken breath, my whole body growing stiff. And _so_ not in a good way.

Apparently, Eric felt it too. He looked up at me, confusion twisting at his mouth and brows. "What is it, min älskare?"

I scanned his face, looking for something, anything … nothing, really. What could I say? Pinch me? I had a feeling that where he would pinch—well, it wouldn't make me want to wake up from this fantasy any more, that's for sure.

"I … uh …." I stammered, biting down on my lower lip as I stroked his hair, his face, anything I could lay my hands on. When I brushed my thumb against his lips, still slick from feasting on me, he closed his hand around mine and pressed it to his mouth, his eyes pleading for the answer I had yet to provide.

Cocking my head to the side, I finally managed to blurt out, "Uh … you don't feel like singing all of a sudden, do you?"

As time stalled, his face was the picture of color me confuddled. That is, until he broke out into the most devilish grin. "Would you _like_ me to sing for you, lover?"

"NO!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, causing that worried creasing of his brows to reappear. I smoothed it out with an opposing motion of my thumbs, giving him a small, embarrassed smile in apology. "Please, no singing."

I let out the nervous energy that was bottled up inside me with a little laugh that was probably borderline manic, and bent down to brush my lips against his brow. When he looked up at me with nothing but adoration in his eyes and a tender smile on his lips, I had to brace myself against that blessed wall, digging my fingers into the muscles of his shoulders to anchor myself.

It seemed that I was finally getting the picture.

"Never mind," I murmured, shaking my head definitively.

With a devious grin of my own, I wove my fingers through his hair, tugging it back a little to meet his eyes before nudging his head back toward me, to that spot he'd just abandoned between my legs. "You just keep on working that Viking magic of yours."

Only his tongue answered me.

He, apparently, had no problem getting the picture.

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_A/N: *sniffles* And thus ends the first installment of the Hollywood hunk with a heart of gold, and his giggly, shrugging fangirl photographer … in all their Nutella-lovin', plaid-clad goodness._

_Was that a collective awww I heard? Please don't be shy now! Click that little green button and let me know what you thought of my very first foray into the AH world._

_I just have to say that I have adored each and every alert, favorite, (but especially!) review. I am flattered beyond words at how many of you have fallen for these two adorkable ones as much as I have ;p_

_One last thing before I leave you to enjoy the sequel tease … just a couple quick shout outs to my Tweetmuses. This chapter was inspired by _**Missus T**_, who was ever insistent on these two returning to the darkroom to, er … finish what they started; My plaid-avenger, __**A-Redhead-Thing**__, who wisely managed to point out that if this chapter was not wrapped in a nice n' shiny plaid bow, well … it just wouldn't be right; and, __**Lubadub**__. Uh … well … *shifty eyes* I don't need to elaborate. You know exactly what part you played ;D_

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_And now … your teaser:_

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_**Six months later …**_

"You ready?"

"Be right there," I called out as I grabbed the shaving kit from the top shelf where I had stored it away after the last time I'd had to use it.

I headed toward the bathroom with a satisfied grin. I had signed the deal to do Recon Two—the sequel to the military mini-series I had done a few years back—about a month ago. When I'd mentioned it all nonchalant-like to Sookie, I didn't need to remind her of the little deal we'd struck just over six months ago. It was more than apparent by the smirk on her face and the hooding of her eyes that she remembered that night as clearly as I did—when I had teased her that the only way I would commit to the sequel would be if she herself would cut my hair.

She was leaning over the tub, her ass peeking out at me from under the oversized plaid shirt she had on—that would be _my_ plaid shirt, thank you very much. But damn, if it didn't look a hell of a lot better on her.

"Mmmm … lover," I whispered. "When you bend over like that, I just wanna ..."

The water she flicked at me did absolutely nothing to cool me down.

"I was just making sure the water was the right temperature, _lover_." She called over her shoulder with a playful eye roll before turning back to shut the water off and wiggling her luscious ass playfully.

My pants were on the floor before you could say negligent discharge.

I was at her side in the next instant. "May I?"

She stepped aside to let me in.

She had been taking full advantage of my long hair all week, knowing it would be her last chance to grope and pull and wrap her hands around it for a while. And now, if the predatory look in her eyes were any indication, she was definitely planning on enjoying her last opportunity to wash it before cutting it all off.

Oh, I did love bath time, especially when my Sookie was involved.

Rub a dub dub, indeed.

**^V^**

I was sitting like a good little boy in the chair she'd prepared for me out on the balcony, naked from the waist up, as per instructions. Shit, this _was_ going to be the most thoroughly enjoyable haircut of my life … I didn't mind being on my best behavior. _For now_.

So, I sat perfectly still and waited.

Moments later, I could just barely feel her pressed against my back as she tipped my head forward and began to comb out the tangles in my hair. Her breath was barely a whisper beside me, but the intoxicating scent that was just purely _her_ was overwhelming.

I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the pleasure of her scent surrounding me as the sun warmed my skin, her soft curves teasing at my back while her fingers worked through my hair.

I almost laughed out loud when I figured out what she was doing; she was braiding my hair. She tied it off and moved in front of me, smoothing down the stray hairs before taking my chin in her hand and turning my head this way and that. Finally, she tipped my chin to face her and met my eyes.

"Mmm . . .." she moaned appreciatively and leaned in, claiming my lips with hers.

She separated from me entirely too soon, and I groaned in protest. Placing my hands at the curve where her hips met the curve of her waist, I stopped her retreat and whispered into her lips, "I'd have to agree with you there, lover."

She let out one of those adorable fucking giggles that made me all warm on the damn insides, and trolloped around me.

She held onto the braid with one hand as she cut it off. After setting it down, she began to snip away at the rest of my hair, cutting it fairly close to my head but not too close.

I was happier than ever that we'd agreed to a semi-short cut before the full-on marine buzz cut that my role required. This way, I had a good month to go still before I went totally short, and, of course, it would take Sookie that much longer to cut my hair, since she couldn't just shave it all off. Any excuse to have her hands in my hair and her body so close to mine was pure fucking win.

Speaking of that hot little body, she had now circled around me. The sun silhouetted her, making her hair glow like spun-gold around her. She was too focused on trimming my hair to notice anything else, so I took full advantage and feasted on the sight in front of me. She was wearing my favorite plaid shirt, and had only two of the most strategic buttons done, so that it gaped most fortuitously at her more than ample chest. It was almost falling off of one shoulder, revealing the deep caramel skin at the curve of her neck … and polka dots. My favorite polka dots, in fact. The halter strap of her fuckhot bikini—white with red polka dots—plunged down, revealing plump and perky tits just above where my view was obstructed by the shirt.

Damn traitorous shirt.

I'd never hated plaid so much in my entire life.

I let my gaze travel down to where the bottom of my shirt hit her at mid-thigh, down shapely legs in the same perfect caramel tan that just begged to be licked, all the way down to … what the fuck? My eyes shot up to hers and the devious grin that spread all the way from her lopsided grin to her eyes almost pushed me over the edge. She was wearing the hottest pair of fuck-me-shoes, all strappy and do-me-hard, and … _fuuuuck_. She was also wearing a similar fuck-me expression on her face.

_Shit_. She knew exactly what she was doing, and now it was apparent that she delighted in knowing that _I_ knew _she_ knew.

She just winked at me and moved around to my other side, continuing her circle of seduction. Fuck. Shit. And fuckety fuck.

I could hear her smug little snickers, before she seemed to return her full attention to the task at hand. She continued on in silence, returning to my back and cutting my hair more closely. A few minutes later, I heard the buzz of the shaver and then felt it at the nape of my neck. She tilted my head forward and began to run the blade along my head. But as she stepped closer and leaned forward, our bodies made contact.

The buzzing of the shaver faded away from my consciousness, and all I could focus on were the places our bodies touched—hot and soft and _fuck_.

I smirked when I realized that she was obviously enjoying this just as much as I was, since I could feel her press even closer to me—much more closely than was necessary. She switched off the razor, but remained exactly as she was for a moment longer, rubbing her hand against my newly shaved hair. Her labored breathing and the lapping of the waves against the shore were the only sounds.

"How's it look back there?" I asked, my voice husky with desire.

"Perfect," she breathed.

She pulled away from my with a heavy sigh and started working on my left side before circling around to the other side. And then, she returned to stand in front of me, examining her work.

Hoisting the shirt up, she revealed the bikini bottom along with a sliver of smooth, golden belly before retrieving the comb that she had stowed away there—she had used her bikini bottom like a damn gun holster.

She was going to be the death of me … of that I was certain. Ah well, at least I'd die a happy man. A _very_ happy man.

I met her eyes and smiled up at her as she ran the comb through my hair, but when she lowered her hand to put away the comb again, my hand shot out, circling around her wrist to stop her.

"May I have the honors, min älskare?"

Her grin was devilishly delicious. "Oh, by all means …."

She even lifted up the shirt for me. _How very obliging._

Yes, plaid and polka dots, flannel and lycra … we were certainly developing a love-hate relationship. She did look downright edible in them … but not as good as she looked _out_ of them. Though, to their credit (and may they rest in peace) I _was_ going to enjoy ripping them off. _Tremendously_.

_

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_P.S. Soooo … did y'all likey? BTW, I'm still thinking of a title for the sequel. Think you have a good one? Tell me in your review! If I choose yours, I'll send ya a pre-screen of all chapters when I start posting the sequel :) _

_P.P.S. Oh, and if you're worried about FStop __withdrawal__, I am working on an Ames/RayRay FStop outtake with youbettago ... just sayin' ;D_


	20. I'm Sandra Dee!

_A/N: Helloooo! So … this is that Ames/Ray Ray outtake I promised y'all. I just figured I'd post it here, so none of you FStop fans would miss this li'l ditty. _

_*whispers* Annnnd guess what? My fantabulous partner in crime __**youbettago**__ is going to be posting the full length feature on her profile! Yup, she'll be writing Ray pov, and I'll be pitching in with some Ames. If you don't already have her on author alert … A. you're just silly, 'cuz you're missing out. MAJORLY. B. Run along over to her profile (__**http:/www . fanfiction . net/u/2001653/youbettago**__) and do it now, so you can get alerts when she posts the Ames & Ray's adventures fic later this week :-) _

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Oh, Ray. Raaaaay, Ray Ray Ray.

_Sweet Mother of the Earth. Swoon._

Our phone call had just ended. You know, the phone call that practically made me float through the roof with excitement? Yeah.

Ray Ray was the last person on Earth I'd expected to answer my best friend's phone, but he did. Oh, lawdy have mercy he did.

Oh, and guess who just got a text from Ray? This girl. _The one with the beaming smile plastered all over her face__._

So I guess I should start at the beginning ….

Sookie was always an EN girl. ALWAYS. And I, well, I preferred Ray. This was back in the RECON days. Still, Ray had always been mah guy. Every outtake and interview I'd managed to dig up on the internets just made me like his personality even more. He was one of those people that I just thought I'd get along with famously, ya know?

"I'd love to sit on the beach with that guy and make fun of rollerbladers." I had told Sookie one night while we were chatting away online. She just rolled her eyes at me over Skype. _Hooker._

He could tell a dirty joke as well as he could belt out Teenage Dirtbag. He had this adorable giggle that totally showed off an even more adorable dimple. He dressed the way I liked my boys, and those gold-rimmed pimp shades… Gah! Seriously, he was so darn adorable. I wanted to tackle him and lick him. Or knit him a sweater. I couldn't decide which.

I know. I have issues. Well, in my defense, I probably wouldn't _really_ do that if I actually met him in real life. Well … _probably _wouldn't. _Maybe_ I wouldn't. Would I?

We were even good match Astrologically. Yeah, okay. I'll admit it; I'd totally taken one of those online quizzes. It was right next to the Barbie name generator and I just couldn't resist.

So as soon as I saw Ray Ray's name flash across my Twitter stream—by way of my girl's account, no less—I had to call her.

"You're on with Awesome. Can I take your order?"

_Most definitely not Sookie__…__._

I giggled before I greeted the mystery funster. "My, Sookie, what's with the manly vocal chords? Didja get a testosterone shot or somethin'?"

Stunned silence. I couldn't be sure, but I could swear I heard hard gulping.

"The better to seduce you with my dear. Who this be?" He was adorably playful, whoever this mystery cutie was.

"This be Amelia. Fair maiden Sookie's best friend. May I have the pleasure of a name of her phone's kidnapper?"

"Aye, lass. This be the dread Pirate Ray Ray. I demand retribution for the wrongs done to me by Sookie's phone!"

I snorted and giggled for a moment before the weight of his words hit me. I sobered instantly.

"Ray. _Ray__,__ Ray_?" The first time I said his name it came out in a normal even tone. The second and third time, not so much. More like squeals. The rabid, manic kind. Of course it was _that_ Ray. Sookie _was _at the RECON party. Why would I even think it was any _other_ Ray?

"I couldn't get any more Ray unless I was part of the sun, sweetheart."

Oh. Holy. Fucking. Hell. Sweet baby jesus, I was talking to Ray. RAY! I stood up on my bed and did the running man, my blankets tossing every which way around my feet. Ignoring the revolted 'that human is insane!' look my cat, Bubba threw my way before evacuating the area, I jumped and fell flat on my ass against the mattress with excitement. What do I say? Oh god. _Ohgodohgodohgod._

"So, what are you wearing, Ray?" _Facepalm._ Seriously, Ames? You've finally got your ultimate dream dude on the line, and that's the best you can come up with? Argh.

"Tuxedo tee shirt and jeans; my formal digs, of course."

I could so totally see him in that … and me tearing it off of him. "Sounds saucy."

God, I was lame.

"What about you, Fraulline?"

"Just a white wife beater and boxers. You wanna see?" _What the_ … did I just volunteer pics of myself to him? No way would he want them. No freakin' way.

"555-431-2769."

I caught flies. Literally, my mouth was gaping and I heard a buzzing as I swatted away the little rascal once my brain had turned back on.

Once recovered, I quickly scribbled the number down and promised to send them later.

_I had Ray's phone number__!_ I did the happy dance, lying down—which takes some serious skills, mind you.

He kept the gigglesnort-inducing banter going. I was just answering on auto-mode since my brain was still running circles around the fact that he'd given me his phone number. Holy mother of fucking god,_ Ray _had given _me_ his phone number! Yeah, I might've pinched my girls just to make sure I wasn't dreaming … and 'cuz I was on the phone with a handsome devil.

At some point, I made a comment about being too honest and next thing I knew, he said I was perfect for him and that we should hook up. I was all verklempt! Seriously, funny as fuck and hot as hell Ray was saying he wanted to hook up. _With me_.

I didn't have anyone to pounce on … I considered Bubba across the room for a second, but I swear to god he raised a disapproving eyebrow at me before dismissing me with a flick of his chin. God, that thing was a diva and three quarters. He was lucky that he was so damn cute and cuddly… and bore a striking resemblance to his namesake with that fuzzy, gravity-defying Mohawk of his.

I refocused my attention on the object of my swooning, and somehow managed to keep my shit in check, giggle-snorting like a moron before turning up the flirt.

"I wish I was there right now." Okay, I could even hear the pout in my voice. I had really wanted to go but didn't want to put Sookie on the spot like that. The Recon cast was notorious for their nights out, but Sookie was already tagging along, and I knew that if I'd asked her she would probably feel obliged to score me an invite.

"Fuck, smalls. I wish you were here too. I could really use some beautiful in my view."

_How the hell did he know__n__ what I looked like? _I asked him.

"Oh, a lovely picture of you came across the screen when you called. I especially loved the crossed eyes."

Mortification! And yet another facepalm.

"Hmmm, that sounded suspiciously like a facepalm, Amelia." Ray giggled.

"That's the cutest giggle I've ever heard, Ray! Awww, you're even adorable on the phone."

"Are you always this perky late at night? Your energy: I want a case full of it."

We flirted back and forth a bit until Sookie stole the phone from Ray with barely enough time for a hasty goodbye. I was _so_ gonna have to give her some wing-girl lessons.

She and I chatted quickly before she hung up on me—rudely, I might add—to go check Twitter. Lord save us all, I'd created a monster.

As soon as she hung up on me, I wasted no time and started taking pictures of myself in my peejays so I could select the perfect one to send to Ray. Approximately four minutes later I had a great shot that I sent with the caption _Yes, I'm ALWAYS this perky._

Less than a minute later my phone buzzed with a new text message.

_You stole my boxers. Give them back. NOW._

I took them off and laid them on my bed, then took a picture of them. _Come and get 'em, Big Boy!_

Giggling to myself, I got into bed and turned off the lights, thinking as much fun as this was, I couldn't hold Ray's attention a whole lot longer. I mean, I might be a hot lil' mama, but I wasn't delusional.

My phone buzzed in my hand as I clutched it under my pillow.

_Thin ice, woman! Damn, my boxers feel tight._

_Wha?_

This time when my phone buzzed, I had a new picture message. It was a picture of something plaid and tight and ... _oh dear god._ It was his crotch. I almost hyperventilated.

_Oh. Wow. I can't top that__…_

I kept staring at the pic while I waited for a response. Great googly moogly… I had just received a crotch shot from Ray. This certainly wasn't what I had thought my night would hold when I dialed Sookie earlier.

New message. _I know how you can top it, sugarlump__._

_Oh yeah? Tell me more! Tell me more!_ I loved 'Grease'. So sue me.

_Meet me for lunch tomorrow._

This time I screamed out loud and I'm sure my old bitty neighbor heard me even without her hearing aid in at this late hour. Bubba chimed in with his trademark grunt-snort, the one he saved for when he wanted to make it clear that he was not amused, in the slightest. It was a bizarre sound that ended up sounding somewhere between a snore and a fart. Damn spoiled brat.

My fingers hovered over the keys before I replied to him and got an immediate response with the name of a little café on the beach. After I had agreed on the place, I got one more message.

_I got chills, they're multiplyin'. See you tomorrow Sandy._

I grinned, happy to know that he had gotten my lame Grease reference.

_Tell me about it, Stud!_ _Sweet dreams_ ….

The last thing I remembered before drifting away to sleep was staring at my new favorite screensaver.


End file.
